


Nomad By Fate

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Destiel Omegaverse Big Bang (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fanart, Full Shift Werewolves, Grumpy Castiel (Supernatural), Happy Ending, How could I forget the smut?, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Fic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic Realism, Mal wrote a thing, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, NSFW Art, Nature Magic, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), POV Alternating, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pagan Gods, Past Abuse, Past Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Puppy Piles, Recovery, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Scent Bonding, Scent Marking, Scenting, Shapeshifting, Single Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Smut, Switching, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, True Mates, age gap, beyond the Veil, some body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 152,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: A truce between the Tribes and Elysian Empire stands for over 20 years. Every five years, the Gathering takes place to elect a new Tribal Alpha. Navigating this political landscape are the Nomads, roaming bands of shifters who try to side-step tradition. Ruling Tribal Alpha, John Winchester, tries to balance a wind of change with the deep-seated traditions. Unlike most Alphas, he is willing to listen if peace within and without holds. Elysium has no business at The Gathering, but when they present the Tribes with a problem no pack can turn a blind eye to, the situation turns combustible.Castiel is a run-away from Elysium, who has taken up with the Nomads in the hopes of paving the way for future generations. Dean has been following his own solitary path, because to him both the Tribes and the Nomads are on irreconcilable tracks. Packless and touch-starved, he looks forward to working protection at The Gathering.Unsolicited, Dean steps in on Castiel’s behalf, much to the latter’s dismay, only to have Castiel challenge him unlike any Omega he’s ever met. The timing of their meeting couldn’t be more unfortunate, but they may find the gravitational pull towards one another impossible to ignore.
Relationships: Bobby Singer/Karen Singer, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Gadreel/Lee Webb, John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Comments: 283
Kudos: 172
Collections: Destiel Omegaverse Big Bang





	1. No Home To Give

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Destiel Omegaverse Big Bang!
> 
> Or: the one where I got way too ambitious and world-building ran away with me. This fic nearly drove me nuts, while juggling other bangs and, y'know, Life.
> 
> 1) Be advised for the tags, but please do not let them deter you either. You are in good hands. I am too much of a sucker for happy endings.
> 
> 2) Lots of songs in this one! Every chapter title is either a song title or line from a song. Title song is [Nomad By Fate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDt2zJ5eOB4) by Chuck Ragan. Look for other song links in the notes!
> 
> 3) Beta'ed, once again, by the amazing [kindathewholepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindathewholepoint/profile), who helped protect my sanity, or what's left of it anyway. We met during DCBB last year and I dunno, sometimes you just meet the right people. Hugs to you and grateful for us working together. Due to the size of this fic and having the endlessly go back to earlier chapters to tie loose ends or connect stuff, any remaining mistakes you find are my own.
> 
> 4) ART! Working with [Lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl_graphics/works) was an absolute blast. We talked to and fro a lot and she basically provided art for you guys for every damn chapter. Considering the size of this fic, that's saying something. Thank you so much for giving so much of your time and talent!
> 
> 5) I may or may not have developed a preference for A/B/O with this. So if anyone has any prompts or snippets they want to provide me with for future stories, this is your chance. Just drop them in the comments or if you'd rather do so privately, come find me on [my Library Tumblr](https://mal-wrote-a-thing-library.tumblr.com/) or [my Chaos Personal Tumblr](https://maleyah-givemetomorrow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Is that it? That is it. Go run with my wolves now. They're eager. (As evidenced by not once, but twice accidentally posting a chapter early, because I'm all kinds of special. My apologies for that.)
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> Hope you and yours are well, and you're feeling loved.  
> Howling love,  
> Mal

The early spring sun has Dean angling his face towards her tentative warmth. She was his steady companion during the day, obscured by a bright white trail of clouds, while her nightly counterpart and shining guardians served as his guides by night. Her axis shifting, she brings a breeze with her that carries the scent of the ocean and the promise of life. 

It would be peaceful if it weren’t for his chatterbox of a travelling companion he picked up two days ago and hasn’t been able to shake. Goes by the name of Garth. Unlike Dean, not a full-blown shifter. They knew each other as cubs. Part of one of the smaller packs on tribal lands, they ran wild through the forests, until Garth’s pack moved away. His memories of Garth are limited to flashes of a scrawny, overexcited pup, prone to getting in people’s personal space uninvited.

Garth hands him back his waterskin, making pleased smacking sounds. “Your water tastes different, cooler…”

Dean takes it and hooks it back to the side of his saddle. “It’s from belowground.”

“You go belowground?”

“Well, yeah, there isn’t always a water source aboveground.”

“But what about… you know…” He looks at Dean meaningfully and, when he doesn’t take the bait, makes two horns above his head with his index fingers. “The Devil!”

“Oh, please,” Dean scoffs. “That’s just to scare the kids and prevent them from going exploring and get themselves lost.”

“I dunno,” Garth says, squinting. “Wasn’t there one down there during the war?”

“That’s what our granddad liked to say after.”

“Right! He was the first Tribal Alpha after! I forgot. We moved away around that time.”

“I remember,” Dean nods.

“You don’t think it’s true?”

“I don’t know about the Devil, but Bobby told me those caves were used during and they didn’t want anyone down there anymore. They closed off the known entrances, tried to fill some of the tunnels, but the network’s too big.”

“Or the stories about it leading a life of its own are true.”

“The _caves?_ ”

“Yeah, supposedly they change once you go down there.”

“I’ve been down there plenty of times, Garth. It’s true that the tunnels are near endless. For every one they collapsed, I’m sure there’s five others we don’t know about. But the paths I travelled didn’t change and I never ran into any devils, besides my own.”

It isn’t the full truth.

Garth looks at him in awe and Dean squirms uncomfortably.

“What kinda Alpha was your granddad anyway?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because my mom didn’t like him much. Our dad got hurt bad in the war. I mean, at least he came home, right? But after what Elysium and the Tribes put him through, she didn’t want to stick around under another dogmatic Alpha.” He seems to catch on to the harshness of his own words. “No offence.”

Dean side-eyes him for a moment. “Sure. My view of the man might be skewed, but I suppose you can call him a traditionalist. And on the heel of the war, our lands needed a firm hand. Someone who provided clarity, something familiar and reliable. Granddad was always good at that.”

He can hear the voices of his tutors in his head, his voice almost taking on their timbre as he dutifully sticks to the story. His grandfather. His Dad. Bobby, to an extent even. It’s Garth’s turn to narrow his eyes at him. Dean purses his lips under the scrutiny, because this is an unexpected turn to the conversation.

“So _he_ returned the Tribes to their old habits.”

The inflection in Garth’s voice belies the accusatory words.

“I suppose, if you want to call it that. There was some strife between him and Crowley, because… well, packs will bicker and fight over the little things, as long as they feel aligned on the big things.”

“Strange, because wasn’t Crowley his successor?”

“He was.”

“I don’t recall a significant change in rule when he took the position.”

“Crowley? No, not back then, I guess. His second-in-command caused more trouble. He’s one of those hardcore knothead types.”

Garth’s eyes flit around, frowning, as he tries to remember. “Azazel? The creep with the yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, that creep. Haven’t seen any of them in a good while and I have zero regrets about that. But Crowley and Granddad just didn’t like each other much,” he grins. “Because we are what we are.”

“Are we?”

He doesn’t reply. Dean is trained to hold the storyline to anyone who isn’t part of the Hunters’ pack, which is clearly deeply ingrained, because Garth’s question is valid. In fact, it echoes his private thoughts. The whole conversation is throwing him for a loop, because he doesn’t enjoy talking about this. He was there when his grandfather’s decisions took root, the consequences of which were tangible ten years later when Dean presented as an Alpha. And again five years later when Sam lost Jess.

None of which he’s particularly fond of remembering.

Also this is more conversation in ten minutes than he’s had in a year.

Thankfully, Garth is easily distracted.

“Hey,” Garth says. “Look! That’s…”

A still-scrawny arm extends to point at the white walls of The Elysium Empire that glint in the distant south, peeking out from behind the receding mountain ridge of The Voiceless Peaks, and the billowing fog of the plummeting Whitewater Falls. On a day like today, with near-to clear skies, those walls reflect the glare of the sun. Most of the time though,they are hidden. He thinks he can even make out the archangel statues on either side of the main gate, their wings fanning out towards the heavens. The Empire’s implied presence suffices, their proverbial shadow reaching all the way to their destination without effort.

Dean side-eyes Garth. “Elysium. Yeah, it is.”

“Kinda beautiful from afar, really,” Garth says, his face wrinkling up.

Dean can’t help but return a reluctant smile. Garth has a way about him that is at once endearing and annoying. 

“Really?” Dean echoes skeptically.

Garth splutters a sweet laugh. “Only from afar.” 

“Have you ever visited?”

“In passing,” Garth says, steering his steed closer to Baby. “I’ve mostly kept moving.”

Cheery as he is, Dean senses the way he dances away from anything too specific, too telling. Most every solitary traveller he meets does the same, as does Dean. Whether Garth is Alpha, Beta or Omega, Dean resists the urge to find out, though he can if he puts his mind, well, nose to it. It hardly matters. There isn’t a bad bone in Garth’s body.

“Same,” Dean nods, giving it hardly any thought.

“But we’re headed back home, aren’t we?”

Tugging at Baby to reign her in, Dean arches an eyebrow and sucks his bottom lip.

“I guess we are.”

“Oh, don’t look so constipated,” Garth chuckles. “It’s important, innit. And you’re clearly distracted. You hardly look twice at any of the surroundings, despite the beauty of it. Except to see if there might be a threat.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you ought to do the same,” Dean grunts.

“With a bloke like you with me, hardly seems necessary, does it?”

_How has this guy survived on his own?_

“And,” he adds. “You clearly weren’t impressed with the walls.”

Dean scoffs at that, throwing his head back in a cynical laugh. “Are you?”

Garth cocks his head to the side, taking a playful swipe at a low branch on the tree they are passing under. “You hear the stories, don’t you? From before the truce. Some of them sound more like myths.”

“I keep forgetting you’re younger than me and you don’t remember.”

Garth shrugs. “I get that a lot.”

“I don’t even remember that much,” Dean amends. “I was only five when the war ended.”

They are coming in from the east. Dean pats Baby, whose hooves kick up small clouds of dust with every step. 

They are following the path of the sun, across the sandy plains that are a near-to-never-ending quilt of various shades of brown, ochre and beige, dappled with hardy bushes and tall trees, casting blotches of shade for critters and humans alike. It is divided and sewn together by small patches of human activity. Within those patches and across those plains, Dean has hunted for the past six months. Human and inhuman prey alike.

From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Garth wiggle a finger at the two birds in the cage tied behind his back. His gear is limited. Dean and Baby travel light. A bedroll with an extra blanket, water skins, his crows, Hugin and Munin, and an amount of weapons no one man should have, most of them concealed to near invisibility. He always hunts what food he needs.

“They’re hooded crows?”

“Yeah, they are.”

He hears a snappy caw behind him and Garth curses, retracting his hand to his chest.

“Careful,” Dean smirks. “Munin’s a mouthy little shit.”

He angled himself to look at his crows. Pulling two slivers of jerky out of one of his pouches, he hands them to the pair, cooing at them. Munin zones in on it with predatory focus, while Hugin tilts his head at him and nibbles on his finger gently before accepting the food.

“You don’t say,” Garth mutters, sucking on his finger, but the sulking was short-lived. “Oh, I forgot how gorgeous it is.”

Feeling his face relax at the view, Dean smiles at the welcoming lush green of the tribal forests, draped across the slope of The Dead Rise cliffs and fanning out like moss on a dead tree trunk. His childhood home. It has been about two years since he last visited his Tribe. The rundown of that visit being what it was, he has not returned until he was morally obliged to. 

Gorgeous, it surely is.

The epicentre of his existence for the coming days lies ahead, where forest, plains, cliffs and ocean meet around the stone site and the one remaining building, The Fort. Their destination, unique in both landscape and significance, now in sight, Dean’s heart jumps into permanent suspension, equal parts hope and apprehension.

“We’re not the only ones,” Dean says and points.

From all sides, they can see groups of people trickling in like ants crowding around their hill. An unsettling feeling tugs at his core, but Dean wedges it back to the outskirts of his consciousness. On the edge of the plains, the Wanderer Encampment is outlined, its boundaries marked with an endless cord of colourful flags. The cord, moving in the wind, is a warning as much as a requirement for everyone on either side of it. A boundary. Safety for those within. A hard limit for those without. Such is the theory anyway.

It is also his first stop to reunite with his brother.

The Packless and The Nomad.

“I’ll see you at the gathering,” Garth waves.

“Don’t get lost! It’s been a while since you’ve been here.”

Garth shakes his head, steering his horse towards the thick of the forest, while Dean and Baby veer off to the camp. As he gets closer, he dismounts, taking her by the reigns. Dean adjusts his cloak around him. He scans the camp, in search of the familiar mop of hair and size that is his brother. 

The Nomads are still in the process of setting up their camp. Most of their tents are heavy, sun-bleached and worn, fit for frequent travel. He spots several rickety ones that won’t survive even a mediocre storm. Contrary to the Tribes, Nomads don’t proclaim their allegiance or territory with uniform flags and symbols. 

When he looks beyond the colourful flags, he is acutely aware of the existence of The Bunker, hidden among the trees. His home. The first of several scattered tribal dens in the woods and across their lands. It has been a long time living away from his pack. Dean would be lying if he doesn’t, at least to himself, admit it is wearing him down. Even with everything else going on, he longs to be around other shifters once more.

Baby nuzzles at his face, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. Smiling, Dean lets her, her lips insistent as she noses her way down his flank in search of a snack. Dean reaches around to the rectangular pouch at his lower back where he keeps her treats, a pouch he has to move around on his person every few days, because Baby is so damned intelligent. She whinnies triumphantly at him when she catches a whiff of the snack and eats it out of his hand gently, then breathes warm air in his face.

The Wanderer camp is almost a festival in its own right, with stalls, fire pits, iron cast tripods and cooking fires being set up by a mishmash of shifters of all shades, ages and sizes. A large maypole is being erected, a massive mess tent to the side of it. Both inside and outside their perimeter, he spots the tell-tale smaller stalls, marked for instant recognition, which provide scent blockers and other heat or rut-related items.

The sun peeks out from behind a stray cloud and Dean smiles at the sight of her light oozing across the tents. His heart picks up a bit when he catches sight of the familiar, massive outline of his brother, bidding goodbye to someone and moving away from one of the unfinished tents within the camp. 

Sam comes to meet him, tucking his hand axes on either side of his belt, before Dean can make his way past the flags. His brother has grown taller and wider than him, now roughly the size of the oak tree they climbed as kids. The brown and pale leathers he is wearing are obviously custom-made, because nothing else fits him. Whoever made them has Dean’s gratitude.

“Sammy!”

His brother’s eyebrows knit together immediately and Dean rolls his eyes, as he opens his arms. 

“Sam,” he grins.

“Better.” 

Sam returns the smile with an uptick of one corner of his mouth, while he pets Baby on the nose. She almost head-butts him in her enthusiasm to greet him. Sam snickers softly as he takes the strength of her with ease, both arms coming up around her strong neck.

Dean takes the moment to study Sam. A few quick glances, zoning in on the tells that are his prerogative as older brother. Sam looks good, better than the first time he found him, though perhaps a touch preoccupied. But then that is Sam’s default. His eyes skitter from Baby to Dean and away.

With a mental huff, Dean decides he won’t give Sam the time to be weird about their reunion. Instead, he pulls him into a hug. There is a strength to Sam, he feels it in the circle of his arms, when the pressure on him increases, slow but steady. His brother is trying to squeeze the life out of him, as siblings do. 

Dean groans a laugh, his hand at the back of Sam’s head, ruffling his hair. He sinks into the sensation of the first genuine hug he’s experienced in years, before he realizes he is doing it. Even through the scent blockers, he thinks he catches a whiff of Sam’s scent, the familiar soothing edge of which quickly permeates his bones. 

He missed this. A lot more than he realised, now that he feels what it means. So hard he has trouble breathing, though that could be Sam’s doing.

When the hug turns softer, he doesn’t notice, but he senses the shift in Sam… the way it did when they were kids, whenever he caught Dean nesting in the safety of one of his many nests scattered around the forest. As they break apart, Dean keeps his hand to the side of Sam’s neck, his thumb on his cheek. Sam’s massive hand rests on his shoulder, warm and grounding. He refuses to let go. 

Almost at the same time, they let their wrists slide across each other’s neck, the comfort of family wafting up Dean’s nose. Dean’s blockers are active, but Sam is bare. It has him frowning, concern spiking briefly. Then he gets distracted. Something is different about Sam’s scent, a subtle change, which he immediately knows is the change of finding a mate. He remembers Eileen. He met her two years ago when their paths crossed unexpectedly. Dean’s face softens with a sharp needy jolt surging up from the depths.

“How are you, Dean?” 

Sam’s hazel eyes search him with intent and he sees the gentle flaring of his nostrils, as he tries to get past the scent blockers. Dean makes no effort to hide his scent, because his blockers are insanely potent. Another advantage of travelling. He met a lot of interesting people along the way. Including vastly different creatures than his own kind.

“It’s good to be here, Sammy. It’s good to see you. You look good, man. Custom-made, huh?”

He tugs at the leather straps at his flanks and pats a hand to Sam’s chest. 

“Yeah, well, I kept bursting out of everything that wasn’t.”

Dean laughs. “You’re not supposed to shift when dressed, you know that.”

“I don’t need to shift for it, that’s the whole point,” Sam smirks, patting down his chest in contentment. 

“Shall we make a first tour and check in at The Fort? Or do they need your help?”

Sam looks over his shoulder, voice stuttering a few times as he speaks while thinking. “Uh.. No, we, uh, they should be fine. They know I’m working security with you.”

A little blonde girl howls at Sam from underneath a canvas, holding it wrapped around her like a massive cloak. A second brown-haired and dark-skinned cub pops up between her legs, knocking her over, echoing the howl in a shaky voice. Sam laughs and waves at them, as he and Dean begin their slow meandering perimeter of The Gathering. Baby wanders behind them, the sound of her hooves distancing themselves now and then. Dean keeps his ears pricked, knowing she will stick close to him and Sam.

“Was that a mini you?”

“Hell, no,” Sam says, emphatic in the way he shakes his head. “Though Eileen would love it if I caved.”

“Doesn’t hurt to practice.”

Sam shrugs. “As two Omegas, the odds aren’t exactly in our favor anyway.”

“Sounds like you are trying. Will I be an uncle soon?”

They start moving west, the shrubbery thickening as they move closer to the woods. It would take a good while to get to The Bunker. They walk in a slow arch that takes them through part of the tree line and eventually leads to the beach in the north. For now they steer clear of the epicentre and The Sacred Site.

Sam squints at the surroundings, much the same way Dean does, but they catch each other’s gaze on the regular. The set-up for The Gathering is largely the same, but it pays to check where everything ended up, to solidify it in their minds, in case it comes down to a chase or a short-cut, or finding a lost cub. They are greeted warmly more often than not, as people start to realise the two Winchester sons are present.

“In the current political climate, not damn likely.”

A long, slow exhale saves Dean from replying on gut instinct, but he also knows better than to dodge the subject.

“What was that? All of five minutes?”

Sam’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, a sadness instant in his eyebrows and mouth. “Can I help it if you ask silly questions?”

“It’s not a silly question, Sammy. You have a mate, I can smell it on you. It’s the natural order.”

Sam’s lips press into a tight line at how he feels about ‘the natural order’ and Dean senses the glaring side eye aimed his way. “Be that as it may, I’d prefer to see where this Gathering goes first.”

“You might want to put on your blockers.”

“Or I might want to remind people that regardless of whether I’m wearing my blockers or not, there is such a thing as self-control and an Omega who can hold his own.”

Morrigan help him, Dean knows Sam is right. He also knows that being right does not make one immune to the dangers of reality. Reality does not accommodate idealism.

“On you holding your own, at least, we agree.”

“Your dimples are showing.” 

“Because there is much discontent, alright? I’ve been out there for a while.”

“You’ve been alone all this time?”

The way Sam looks at him, nostrils flaring again, Dean nudges his mental barriers in place a touch better, carefully schooling his face to neutrality about the fall-out of that decision.

“I have.”

“Dean, I thought you’d have come home by now,” Sam mutters, tone betraying his worry. “How do you…”

“I manage fine. It isn’t pleasant, but I survive. And I wasn’t going to go back home and bust up Dad’s show.” He waves a hand at the forest and lets out an annoyed sound. “But at least we’re here…”

“Dean, we should probably talk more. Let’s just… see where it goes. We both know where we stand. There has to be a way to…” Sam falters.

Dean nods nonetheless, in agreement that yes, they should talk. He believes that they stand a lot closer than Sam gives them credit for. But something hooks its claws in Dean’s attention, viciously dragging it off.

“Sammy…”

Catching a whiff of something… Dean means to warn his brother, but Sam seems too exasperated at the subject or their perceived diverging stances, he doesn’t pick up on it. 

“Don’t Sammy me, okay? I’m here as a representative for the Nomads, whether Dad likes it or not. I will be at The Gathering. And I’ve got backup. I’ll do what I can to get us acknowledged and I don’t plan on pulling any punches.”

He only half registers the words, stores them, because his senses are on high alert, nostrils flaring at the scent he catches. Someone in distress. It is a thin, barely there trail, but it goes off like fucking fireworks in his brain. 

“ _Sam_.” 

He grabs his brother’s arm and seeing Dean’s expression, Sam finally catches up, sniffing for it.

“I don’t smell anything…”

“Deeper into the forest,” Dean grunts.

He takes off running when he swears he hears a keening sound accompany the deep anguish he smells. The thud of hooves sounds from his left, a sharp caw expressing Munin’s annoyance at the sudden jolt, when Baby springs to action. Dean’s instincts kick in as he rushes forward into the thick bushes, following the fragile trail. Despite his longer legs, Sam falls behind. Dean always was fast. Voices join the scent, making it easier and Dean bursts between two younger oak trees to where they are heaviest. He takes in the sight. Baby reels and trots around, circling back towards Dean, whinnying. He palms her over the nose, muttering the low order to stay close.

The mixing scents of those present heavy on the air has him swallowing back saliva. Two Alphas, in blue hooded cloaks, are cornering what he assumes is an Omega. The scenario is all too familiar. He’s lost count of how many times he’s seen it. The Omega is backed into a large tree, doubled over, arms across his abdomen… No, three Alphas, Dean counts when he spots another, standing further away. None of them seem to care much for Dean’s arrival. Their fragrances are horridly dominant and aggressive. Drawing his short sword, Dean runs towards the two that are ganging up on the Omega, his primary instinct to safeguard.

He expected trouble. It’s a common aspect of The Gathering, putting that many shifters with high stakes and spirits in close quarters. They usually kick up dust during the first or second night, when the effects of drinking and partying sink in. He didn’t expect trouble this early.

He also doesn’t expect what happens next. Before he comes within striking distance of the first one, the hooded Alpha lands a fist into the Omega’s face. The response is instant and lighting fast.

A low grunt accompanies an audible punch and the Alpha goes down in one strike. Dean catches a flash of dark scruff and messy hair, as the Omega grabs the falling Alpha and unceremoniously shoves him at Dean. Instinctively and thoroughly confused, Dean grabs hold of his limp body and staggers backwards. For the briefest second, the Omega locks his gaze onto Dean’s, eyes blazing like icy flames, sending an electric jolt through him. Then, without so much as a second thought, he dismisses Dean, crouches lower and barrels into the other Alpha. His large hands hook behind the Alpha’s knees and, knocking his legs out from under him, he rams the Alpha onto his back into the grass. 

There is not a hint of hesitation in the Omega, as he drops to his knees, straddling him, one hand at the Alpha’s throat and pulls his arm back, fist balled.

Dean hears Sam break through the shrubs into the small clearing. “Shit! Castiel!”

Without acknowledging Sam, the Omega slams a fist into the prone Alpha, once, twice, thrice. Dean watches the attempts at fending him off fail with each consecutive one. The attacks are quick, brutal, efficient, the Omega’s jaw working the tendons in his neck.

“Enough!” the third Alpha barks, moving closer.

The Omega lands a fourth blow and gets up, kicking the Alpha into the ground for good measure, rubbing his bloodied fist with his other hand. His breath comes fast through his nose, but not ragged. His jaw is set in anger. His scent hits Dean like the blazing heat of an inferno. He’s always had a sensitive nose, more so than most, so he’s gotten used to picking up scents that no one else does. This is an onslaught, his mouth salivating as he tries to process.

The sudden lull in action forces Dean to focus. The Alpha in his arms stirs and he clamps his hand down on his throat, bringing his sword up. The bloodied Alpha on the ground scrambles onto all fours, blood oozing from his mouth. Sam ducks after him when he tries to escape towards the third one.

“Identify yourself!” Dean snarls at the third.

An unpleasant, grating sound bursts from his lips, which Dean belatedly registers as laughter. He waves a hand at them, his eyes glowing red in his hood. 

“Good luck with that, little Alpha. You can keep those.”

After that the third one walks off. With a low growl, Dean kicks his captive’s legs out from under him, using his Voice reflexively on both Alphas. “ **Both of you. Stay.** ”

He and Sam run after the departed Alpha, only to find him vanished. They scent the air as best they can. Dean lets out a frustrated grunt. A local, to be able to disappear so quickly? They exchange a look, Sam shaking his head.

“I got nothing.”

“I might,” Dean says, frowning. “Not sure. The scent is strange.”

Exhaling through his nose, he pushes his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he tries to taste it. An unpleasant process with the likes of these knot-heads, but maybe something sticks. 

“Probably wearing a blocker. That didn’t take long…”

He nods at Sam in agreement, lips pursed. His attention is drawn back to the Omega, who is standing in the same spot they left him, calmly wiping down his hands with a rag. Now and then he glances at the Alphas, who are both obeying Dean’s order. 

Dean nods towards him. “You know this guy?”

Staring at the place where the Alpha disappeared, visibly perturbed, Sam gives a curt nod. “Uhh, yeah. Castiel… he’s with us.”

Like the get-up doesn’t give that away, Dean thinks, as he watches him tuck the rag away inside his long, ratty coat. It looks slightly too big on him, despite the fact that he is clearly built like a house. Dean subtly tries to scent the air as he draws closer to him. When the Omega’s head snaps up, sapphire eyes narrowed and intense, he cocks his head sideways. Dean swallows hard and holds his breath. He feels like he’s been caught out doing something naughty. 

“Don’t,” he bites at Dean.

“Just… checking if you’re alright. Castiel, right?”

Castiel’s face contorts in irritation, lips pursing in an almost aggressive pout, and he ignores Dean’s question. Instead he pats down his coat, knocking some dust out of it and rearranges the collar and the linen shirt underneath with a few jerks. He glances over at Dean in the process, eyebrows raised in stern authority.

“Then use your words, _pup_. A question doesn’t go amiss instead of scenting me.”

The use of the word ‘pup’ sets up his hackles, a low rumble emanating from his chest. To make it worse, a cocky lop-sided smile accompanies the man’s judgmental gaze. Dean looks to Sam, who is clearly living for the fact that Dean is getting chewed out by an Omega. Castiel’s atypical behaviour across the board has Dean reeling. Unacceptable, given the two hostile Alphas in their presence. It is enough to trigger him back into action. With a glower and a shake of his head, Dean turns his focus from Castiel to the job at hand, as he sheathes his sword.

“You two bozos can get up now. Who are you?”

Both Alphas let out a gasp and get to their feet, glaring at Dean in particular. They ignore the question with a quick look exchanged between them. Dean shoots them a shit-eating grin, in need of something to stabilize him. Their outfits are non-descript, giving away nothing to identify them. Sam notices it too, his eyes narrowing in distrust.

“We have to take them in, Dean. To Dad.”

His face falling, Dean sighs. 

“Yeah… I’ll do it. You said he’s with you, the Nomads?” he asks, not looking at Castiel. “How about you…”

Castiel’s exhale is explosive. Dean catches the eye roll, when he scowls at the Omega. “I don’t need an escort. No offence, Sam.”

“None taken whatsoever,” Sam chuckles.

With that, Castiel nods at Sam and walks away from the situation.

“Hey,” Dean calls after him. “Is there a story behind this we need to know?”

Agonizingly slowly, the attitude oozing off him, Castiel turns around on his heels. He keeps walking backwards, spreading his arms wide, his coat flaring behind him, as he juts his chin out arrogantly. His smile is wide, gums showing. “Knot-head Alphas! What more is there to explain?!”

Without waiting for a reply, he turns his back on Sam and Dean, two fingers tapped to his temple in a cocky goodbye.

“Charmer, that one,” Dean grunts.

Sam flicks his tongue over his incisor at Dean. “It’d help if you didn’t tell people what to do.”

“I wasn’t telling him what to do…” Dean protests.

“You assumed he’d need company on the way back. You scented the air to figure out how he was feeling.”

Dean gestures at the two jackasses to get moving, pushing one of them ahead, because he is quickly getting into a _mood._ Baby wanders over, walking to his left shoulder and he rests a hand on her neck.

“Well, fucking yeah,” he bites. “It’s part of our biology and how we fucking function, Sam. Our whole dynamic is built around it. It’s how we live, find our mates, how we protect our cubs, our loved ones. Do you want to know how many times scenting has helped me save people in the past five years? Cut off a knot-head in his tracks just in time? Find out someone was not safe, while everyone around them claimed they were?”

“Just because it’s part of our biology doesn’t mean we can’t question some of what it entails. I get it, but, Dean, this is different… Castiel clearly had it under control.”

Lips pursed, Dean cocks his head for a second at the images that called back up. He had. Efficiently so.

“He sure as fuck did, but we didn’t know that beforehand. You wanna work security at The Gathering, assuming everyone _might_ be able to handle their situation? See how well that goes? They can’t all be fucking bulwarks like him or you. And who are these guys? What about the third one we lost?”

Sam huffs at him, as he grabs hold of one of the Alpha’s shoulders, when he tries to veer off course. The Alpha reels backwards, arm flailing in anger. Dean holds back his instinctive response.

“Fucking Omega!”

“Cram it,” Sam snarls. “I’d wipe the floor with you in a heartbeat.”

A mutinous grumble dies in the Alpha’s throat, when both he and Sam clamp a hand down on the back of his neck. It takes another heartbeat for the tension to go out of him and they start walking again.

Dean eyes Sam. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you scented me not half an hour ago, trying to gauge how I’m doing. What’s the difference?”

That smug know-it-all finger comes up, wagging at Dean. “We’re brothers and I know you’re an idiot who lies about his feelings. For one.”

The other Alpha sneers at that. 

“Shut it, tough guy,” Dean snarls, before he turns to Sam, squinting. “Oh, you do, huh?” 

“Yeah, I do.”

Dean shoots him a double thumbs up. “Good for you, Sammy, we’re done.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair in frustration, giving it a light tug. “Of course we are. Dean…” 

“Forget it. Let’s get these asshats to Dad’s guard. I gotta check in at The Fort and I wanna freshen up before that.”


	2. Meet Me In The Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They duck into the tent and as his eyes adjust to the already mucky interior, he finds Charlie, sitting on her bedroll. Her hands ball into fists, knuckles white even in the limited light.
> 
> “Charlie, sweetheart?”
> 
> “Cas,” she huffs, relief audible, through her labored breathing. “I… I’m sorry.”
> 
> “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Never be sorry for this.”

Bobby gestures at him to lift and Castiel puts his shoulders under the cast iron pole, stepping onto the barrel. The cast iron catches on his shirt, which clings to his back. It takes the help of Gadreel and Jo, but they manage to align the pole atop the two wooden beams they dug into the earth, the weight of the pole locking everything in place. It is the bulkiest cooking fire they possess, which they transport via cart. A cart sets them back in terms of speed and stealth. But that cooking fire also draws them together most, much like the main tent. Which is the reason it takes up center position in their part of the Nomad camp. He jumps to the ground, kicking up dust, and squats next to Jo to line up the fire rocks in an ellipse.

His mind is focused on the task at hand, but on the fringes of it and this encampment is a reality he hoped to avoid. There is no mistaking the identity of the one that got away. A kernel of information as hot as an ember straight from the fire and he is juggling it around in his brain like it was just a game. He can tell Sam. To what end? His story has no bearing on theirs. Lucifer’s presence at The Gathering likely isn’t a coincidence. Castiel dreads what might follow. Likely, there are eyes on him this instant. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. Come what may, he needs to stay out of their clutches. In that sense, he figures there is safety in numbers. The safety of numbers and tribes hell-bent on maintaining the peace.

For now.

The guilt that surges up at potentially putting others in danger for his own sake is short-lived. Claire’s face swims into focus and he looks around for her. He finds her playing with Kaia and Patience.

An extraneous vision flashes before his mind’s eye. One of dazzling green eyes framed by freckled skin, a brow furrowed in confusion and an angrily clenched jaw. All for Castiel. Glorious, in a way, if it isn’t all kinds of ill-timed and unwelcome. As soon as he burst into the clearing, the scent on the younger Alpha barreled through Castiel’s barriers with no regard for the existence of blockers. Castiel had detected the chemical glossing over it in a vain attempt at masking the delectable aroma beneath. He had refused to zone in on its separate elements, reluctant to identify them, though the power behind it is familiar enough. He is too old not to know.

Trying to avoid a known adversary is one thing. Having Dean’s essence almost poured down his throat like ambrosia another entirely. Dangerous for too many reasons to bother listing. An Alpha, to boot. His teeth clench harshly at the implications, even when something far more treacherous slithers to wakefulness.

Mother Nature can suck it though.

He hears his name being yelled. It draws him into the unforgiving present.

“Castiel!”

Kevin comes running, eyes wide with worry, pushing past a few Nomads from another pack who finished setting up one of the water collection points.

“Castiel! It’s Charlie!”

Castiel rises and runs towards the teenager, gesturing for him to lower his voice. Kevin grabs for him, clutching onto his shirt sleeves. 

“Easy, cub, what is it?”

“I think her heat started!” 

His stomach falls nauseatingly, even though he and Sam talked it through. There are always several of them who go through their heat or rut during this unfortunate time. Less chance of ruts, because of the low number of Alphas in their group, but the risk is there regardless. 

Giving a nod, Castiel holds Kevin by the shoulder and turns him around, as he pushes him back in the direction where he came running. “Where is she?”

“In my tent. What do we do?”

“There is a place here, where we can take her.”

“Outside the camp? With the Tribes?” Kevin whispers anxiously. 

Prone to it at the best of times, Castiel sometimes worries for his wellbeing. Castiel shoots the boy a glance and nods once more, shelving his concerns on the matter. He wills calm conviction into his scent, in case Kevin picks up on it.

“Can we trust them?”

“We have little other choice, cub. The Fort has protection in place and Sam works there.”

They duck into the tent and as his eyes adjust to the already mucky interior, he finds Charlie, sitting on her bedroll. Her hands ball into fists, knuckles white even in the limited light.

“Charlie, sweetheart?”

“Cas,” she huffs, relief audible, through her labored breathing. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Never be sorry for this.”

He squats down beside her, wiping a gentle thumb over her cheek. She nudges her nose into his palm for comfort. Castiel doesn’t allow all of the Nomads to take such intimate liberties, but he finds himself drawn in by some. Charlie is one of them. She reminds him of Kelly.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know. We were wandering… exploring. It came on so fast. Maybe just overexcited,” she smiles. “You know how I can get.”

“I do. Are you okay to walk?”

“We have to take you to The Fort,” Kevin says. 

He stands aside, hopping from one foot to the other, hands wringing together.

“The what?” Charlie squeaks. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“You did good, Kevin, bringing her back,” Castiel says. 

He dips into his wolf, reaching out to both youngsters to soothe them. Kevin bends through his knees beside him, leaning his weight into Castiel, as Charlie curls in on herself, arms pressed into her stomach.

“It smarts, Cas,” she groans. “What is ‘The Fort’?”

“I know, sweetheart.” He smiles at the dramatic eyes she makes at him. “It’s a place Sam works with other members of the various tribes to protect both Alphas and Omegas who go into their heat or rut during The Gathering.”

“They lock us up?”

His tongue clings to the roof of his mouth. 

“In a way. As I understood it, you get your own room, which you can lock from the inside. Several members from all the factions rotate shifts. Sam is one of them. They take care of anyone who is there and keep…”

Castiel inhales, sitting on the rest of that sentence, but both Kevin and Charlie catch it.

“They keep knot-heads out.”

“We’ve got lots of shifters in a relatively small area,” Castiel adds. “And there is a lot riding on the outcome…”

Voice petering out, Castiel clicks his tongue. He hates having to explain why it is dangerous out there. Why Charlie can’t just ride out her heat within the Nomad encampment without risking her safety, her health or her very life. Or anyone else’s if they try to protect her.

“This is why we’re here, right?” She grimaces a smile at him, dark eyes tearing up.

“Yeah,” Kevin agrees. “It’s why you have been talking to Sam and Bobby so much.”

When he first joined them, Castiel hoped to keep a low profile within the Nomads, but that is quickly becoming a no-go. Castiel knows exactly why that is. He tried to steer clear of it, swore that he’d keep it under wraps. But something about Sam’s enthusiasm drew him closer to the discussions he’d vowed to avoid. There was also a determination in those hazel eyes he recognized, even if he’d shed his years ago. Along with his previous furs.

“Sam’s got us covered,” he nods. “Let’s get you to The Fort. Do you have a bag packed?”

She mirrored him, swallowing hard. “I packed it while Kevin came to get you.”

“Do you need help walking?”

“Nah, I can do this.” She gets up, throwing the bag over her shoulder. “Thanks, Kev.”

Castiel averts his eyes with a tight feeling in his chest, when Charlie drops a kiss to Kevin’s cheek. He heads out of the tent, back into the sunlight, where he can pretend his shadowy demons aren’t closing in on him. His demons, who until very recently, remained hauled up behind the proverbial walls like good little shits. Castiel wonders if there ever will be a safe space within this realm. Perhaps he should have travelled further. Across the waters. In fact, he seems to recall that had been his plan at one point.

But then he met the Nomads and they provided the safe space for him and Claire. 

Charlie bumps her shoulder into him, drawing him back to more acute matters. They start walking. The Nomad encampment being on the outskirts, they venture towards the center of The Gathering intuitively. Chasing his own tail in his mind, it dawns on him what The Fort might be. In fact he is suddenly quite sure. Better yet, he’s seen it. From afar, granted, because back then he was not allowed near the action. 

The realization kicks bile up into his throat. For good measure, he gets out his blockers, adding another layer to his cheeks, neck and wrists. Next to him, Charlie mimics him, unsure eyes darting across the many, _many_ shifters rising up around them like mushrooms, the closer they get to the center of activity. His boots are quickly covered in a dusting of garnet sand. He wishes he can turn back, but several of them are already shoving their nose in the air, trying to pinpoint the whereabouts of an Omega in heat.

His muscles tense in anticipation, disgust strengthening his resolve.

“You want an arm around you?”

“Yeah,” she replies, instant, voice soft.

Castiel obliges, tugging her to him, and plants a kiss on her sweaty temple. 

The old wooden structure looms over the clearing, the only remainder of the war decades ago. The only remainder, in fact, of a whole cluster of such buildings. The Fort is three stories high, a dark type of wood that for any other purpose might have been beautiful, but now only serves to mask the stains that soil it. 

“Stay close, sweetheart.”

“Cas…”

“I know, it’s alright.” 

He isn’t lying, but he sure as hell isn’t telling the whole truth either. If push comes to shove, Castiel is perfectly capable of decking anyone dumb enough to come for Charlie. The price they would pay for that is a decision he can’t make for the both of them or the Nomads as a whole. Perhaps he never should have come here with them. Perhaps he should have talked Sam out of it.

A soft whine at his right ear has him glancing down. Charlie’s dark eyes skitter from the surroundings and the strangers crowding them to Castiel’s face. They aren’t used to being pressed together with so many people.

Who is he kidding, thinking of walking away?

“I’ve got you, Charlie,” he says, voice firm.

“I know,” she says. “It hurts, ‘s all. And don’t people know it’s fucking rude to stare?”

He allows himself a toothy smile at her. Fearless for such a young Omega. Perhaps that’s where the seed of true change lies: within the attitude of their young. He’d prefer not to have to spill any of their blood to bring it about.

They make it to the building without incident. Its wide double wooden doors are open. For a second, they look like a maw which will swallow them whole the second they step within reach. He pushes the uncomfortable feeling away. Up close, Castiel notices there are recent changes made to the structure. The windows are new, but still barred with heavy cast iron grates. Wide enough to be able to open the shutters and let sunlight in, which is more than he expected. Inside, several torches burn bright, despite it being midday and the scent that meets him is a mixture of wood and scented oils.

It was once a prison or slave hub or gulag, depending on who you talked to. The others were torn down in the war’s aftermath, the wood used to burn the bodies. Why they left this last one standing was a mystery to most, including Castiel, though he supposes it serves as a reminder. Putting it to this kind of use leaves a sour taste, despite the ‘upgrades’.

The wooden stairs creak under their combined weight. Charlie holds onto the balustrade, breathing deeply. He looks inside the hallway, in search of someone who is working at The Fort. His eyes snag on movement inside that is a play of light and the sound of… chains?

The scent of petrichor is back. Immediately Castiel shies away from breathing too deeply. His jaw clenches, when the owner of said scent walks into view from one of the rooms on the left. No longer clad in his dark cloak, Castiel sees the cursed chains bleed disturbingly into the dark caramel of his leathers. Dean. Without ceremony, Dean drops the chains he is holding in a chest, already containing others. Before Castiel can signal their presence, he ducks back into another room and a loud clanking of metal on metal sounds. 

“Castiel,” Charlie whispers. “What is this place?”

Her eyes are wide, a touch of fever setting in. She blinks furiously, but the fear pushes her nostrils wide, her face flitting between anxiety, pain and utter distraction. By now her body must be demanding permission to surrender to its needs. He reaches an arm around her and her weight leans into him heavily, as she clutches on.

“It’s alright,” he says. “He’s removing them.”

They stand in the doorway together, Castiel second-guessing every second of it, but he fails to come up with an alternative that doesn’t entail a mad dash away from The Gathering, which would draw dangerous attention. Dean reappears, seemingly unaware of them, which piques Castiel’s interest.

The Alpha picked up on his little scuffle earlier from a fair distance. His focus had been on point, despite the conflict and the way Castiel threw him off. Not even on purpose, though there was always a tasty satisfaction whenever he muddled up a younger Alpha, so obviously trained to fit the part. He was surprised to find out Dean is Sam’s brother, but beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to family. 

The way Dean is moving pulls at a visceral memory, an echo of something buried deep. Castiel tilts his head, enthralled at the slow grace with which Dean moves under the weight of the chains, wrapped around his chest. A highly impractical way to carry them. So why…? During the conflict, Dean had been on permanent edge and vigilant, the tension of which now seems to have almost fully left his body. 

When Dean turns towards them, still blissfully unaware, Castiel catches his eyes at half-mast, almost in a haze. He trimmed the full beard he’d been sporting earlier to a scruff, taking enough years off him to reveal him closer to Charlie’s age than his own. 

Except for the eyes, a stunning emerald green, reminiscent of the invigorating hope of a bright, new spring. They belie the experience in their depths.

A treacherous need stirs in the pit of his being, awakening an old desire. It surprises Castiel, as he licks his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the chains. Not _those_ chains, _never_ those chains, but tying this Alpha down suddenly doesn’t feel like such a bad idea. An appalling suggestion, because Castiel hasn’t. Not since Claire. He forces his attention to the chains, taken aback by the intensity of his craving.

Those chains are horrid tools from a different era, an even more brutal time. The fact that Dean is removing them carries meaning, somehow, but his brain is not firing right. He refocuses his attention on the chains. On one end of each set are heavy, dirty manacles, blood-stained by history. Castiel’s stomach turns, successfully overpowering the other feelings.

“He looks out of it,” Charlie mutters.

Even in her heat, she notices. Not reassuring, if he truly is to leave her under Dean’s protection.

“Dean,” Castiel speaks up.

Glazed jade eyes find his and Dean flutters his eyelids, his body angling towards Castiel the next second. A bemused smile lights up his face, softening his features, as he cocks his head, a confused frown marring his forehead. 

“Cas?”

Holding his breath on instinct at the soft way Dean utters the nickname, Castiel remains quiet. He feels Charlie’s eyes on him, bouncing between him and Dean. He holds her close, when he sees a woman walking up behind Dean from the other side of The Fort. Her hair is a pale red and her face a mask of barely controlled indignation. 

“Winchester,” she snaps. “What are you doing with those chains?”

Whatever daze Dean was in evaporates in a snap, his hands balling into fists. He blinks, focus returning, and holds Castiel in his gaze. Castiel watches reality catch up to Dean. His jaw clenches, as he rolls his shoulders, the chains clinking, and turns around, his broad back effectively shielding Castiel and Charlie.

The pounding of Castiel’s heart vibrates through his rib cage and fans out, settling in his temples.

Dean realizes he didn’t hear her coming. Nor has he noticed Castiel and his Omega charge arriving. Annoyed at his lack of vigilance, he lifts one of the heavy chains from around his torso over his head and dumps it into the chest with a loud rattling sound.

“April!” he smiles, mock-cheery. “I am doing my job. Getting this joint ready for its purpose. A job that should have been done beforehand. Probably two gatherings ago.”

“Oh, if only you’d been here,” she mocks. “Guess they’ll need to live with it, as they’re already pouring in.” 

She gestures with her chin at the pair behind him.

“Or _you_ could make yourself useful and get to it.”

“Not likely. Those chains are part of the history of this building. It’s bad enough it’s been repurposed.”

Dean knows her type. 

In fact, he has memories of April when they were growing up as cubs. She always was a dominant little shit, relishing her position as the daughter of the Fallen tribe Alpha, Bartholomew, the stuff she could get away with, as long as she kept it relatively on the down low. Plenty an Omega or Beta cub learned to avoid her the hard way. Dean was loath to admit, but as cubs, they’d played together. He’d tagged along, not knowing any better. Until she got her claws into Sammy. 

That was the first time something clicked at a subconscious level. Openly his parents were unable to condone Dean’s vicious response, not fully, especially not his dad who had to co-exist with April’s father, but he never forgot the proud glow in his mom’s eyes. Alphas protect those who can’t protect themselves. Even if he hadn’t presented as an Alpha yet, that was probably the moment his father marked down as a first clue. His behavior changed accordingly.

Any given day, he has sure-fire ways to deal with them. Any given day, he doesn’t need her type in his face. Today, even less so.

His sword hand itches. Here and now, Dean needs her _down_. For whatever reason he glances at the two Nomads. The sight of them fans his need to protect which sings through his veins. He smells the discomfort and fear on them, distorted by blockers, but substantial. And fury, which he guesses is Castiel’s. The redhead clutching to him trails his every move with large, dark eyes and he smells the heat on her.

Resolved, Dean’s mind simmers down from anger to a threatening quiet as he turns towards April.

“The chains are out,” he repeats, voice low and tight. “We won’t need them.”

“You don’t have permission to remove these. They are part of a historical building and you have no right, _packless_. Who knows when The Gathering comes to their senses?”

The insult stings, more than it should, and he bristles at having it thrown at him with this audience. The hope behind her last words stings even more so and it feels like a monsoon is rumbling, breaking the heavens, the weight of it heavy on the air.

“If anyone is going in chains, it won’t be these and it won’t be in this building. The likes of her don’t need that. And I don’t need fucking permission to do the right thing.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” April hisses. “Implying the likes of others do?”

She leers at Castiel and the girl.

The soft whimper that follows almost sets him off. He chances another look at them, the redhead glaring angrily from within Castiel’s arms. She flips off April, a quick and dirty gesture, earning a crooked smile from Dean. Castiel’s large hands are protective around her, while he studies Dean, watches what he’ll do next. The blue flame has returned to those intense eyes. 

Dean’s nose crinkles in disgust at April and a surge of white hot anger rears its head. With little to no heed for convention or his own safety, he makes the call when he steps into April’s space. 

There is voice and then there is his Voice. He only ever told Sam and Dean is sure his brother doesn’t fully comprehend, because he hadn’t caught it earlier when Dean used it on the two Alphas. Sam thought Dean was just boasting when, as a cub, he claimed he could make people do what he wanted. 

Except it is true. 

Worse, it was a power he’d abused growing up, as kids do. Until the effects of seeing people’s free will stripped from them sank in. Even more when Sam lost Jess. In all his years roaming the lands, however, Dean resorted to it on the regular. He rationalizes it to this day. Granted, he uses it in extreme emergencies, usually when he was fresh out of options or another life is at stake. His own, marginally so. Still he is acutely aware of the uptick in his usage. He tells himself that the types he uses it on deserve it.

With Castiel and Charlie caught on the fringes of April’s behaviour, something within coils and lashes out, his Alpha snarling at him to gain control of the situation. Eyes skipping away from Castiel as he turns, Dean bares his teeth as he towers over April, lips near her ear. His voice is nothing but the lowest of whispers, meant only for her ears. His breath shimmers in the air, as the order hits.

“ **Back to your post. Until further instruction. And spare me the Alphatude**.”

He retreats minutely, exhaling harshly, wiping a hand over his mouth, as he narrows his eyes. April looks at him like he just hit her in the face and for all it meant, he might as well have and worse. The urge to shield the Omegas behind him holds his guilt at bay, but he knows it will catch up to him later tonight, when he lays down to sleep.

Her mouth opens and closes, hands shaking, as her mind tries to work its way around the direct order, stripping her of her free will. She eventually ducks her head, flashes him a hateful look and obeys.

Before Dean can fully recover and force his system to stand down, an armful of redhead Omega barrels into him. The chains around his chest clink and he winces at their presence. On instinct he closes his arms around her, nostrils flaring, as her heat scent assaults his senses. _Protect_. His softer side bleeds through immediately.

“Charlie!” Castiel exclaims, eyes wide. “He’s…”

“He’s fine,” Charlie mumbles into his chest. 

Dean looks down, finding two brown eyes framed by a pale face and red locks, all of her glowing with trust. 

“He’s safe,” she adds.

Grateful for the ease with which she says it, Dean leans into the sense to protect and hugs her for a second, searching out Castiel, as he wills his anger to fully abate. With interest, he notes Castiel’s body is taut like a bow string, about as ready to step in as Dean had been. He speaks over her head, trying to see past Cas’ guarded expression. 

“You’re okay,” he says, voice dripping with warmth. “How about we keep a healthy distance, huh?”

“But you _are_ safe. And I’m not even into dudes.”

Dean snorts in amusement at the dead-pan remark, which draws his attention to her. 

“Aww, but you’re missing out on so much.” 

Charlie lets out a soft mewl and shakes her head, but Dean rumbles at her softly to help peel her off him. He looks at her, face soft, hands on her shoulders, as he holds her at arm’s length. 

“Your first heat?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, cheeks rosy. “Just overexcited being here, so I guess I triggered it. My heat doesn’t last long normally, luckily, I’d hate to miss this.”

So many of these shifters are like her. Enthusiastic. Young, even though she doesn’t look that much younger than him. He wonders if they realize what is at stake. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jody walk over. She was stationed with April, but chances are she’s come to ask for an explanation. Dean doesn’t plan on giving her one in his current company. Or any time soon.

“Let’s get you settled in. Jody, can you take her?”

The stance of Jody’s eyebrows and hips tells him she will get her answers at some point, but she smiles warmly at Charlie. 

“Dean, you were done with the chambers on the west side, yes?”

“They’re all good, heating elements and nests ready.”

Jody nods. “So, do you have a mate we need to get a hold of?”

“Psssht, noes,” Charlie splutters. “I wish.”

Dean watches them walk away, acutely aware of Castiel behind him. If he expected this display to have tempered the older man, he finds he is in the wrong. Castiel walks up to him, a hand closing around one of the manacles, the weight tugging on his shoulder.

“Did you have to be wearing those chains while you handled her?”

Dean’s blood drains from his face, when the pull of Castiel’s gesture registers in his muscles. He can’t say what Castiel’s expression does, but it betrays something. His wolf starts pacing urgently. Before he can consider what it is and much to his horror, his dick twitches at the mere suggestion of Castiel, chains, weight and much more, calling up ideas that are best buried deep.

It is however not an unfamiliar need, much to Dean’s dismay.

 _Excuse you_ , he thinks to his dick and his desires, _we have talked about this. Grown-ass Alphas don’t do it and even if they do, it won’t be with this one, because he loathes me._

Except he can’t say for sure what Castiel exudes. The man is as unreadable as a marble statue, glorious in his rugged beauty, but distant and cold enough to suffer frostburn. He knows one thing though. Castiel is right about the chains and Dean sways into the notion, recovering from the past few minutes with a grace that would have Bobby gaping.

“I… you’re right,” he says, voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have. My apologies. And thank you for bringing her in. We’ll keep her safe and comfortable.”

He shakes off the second chain into the chest and drops the lid down. Castiel falls silent and Dean hopes it is because the answer is calmer than perhaps Castiel seems to expect from anyone around him.

“You better.” He runs his hand through his dark hair, setting it on impossible end, hunching his shoulders for a second. “How does it work? Can we send one of our own in to check on her every day?”

“As often as you like, as long as she’s okay with it,” Dean says.

“What about her needs?”

Dean rubs a hand over his eyes, a mild fatigue setting in.

“If they don’t have a mate, they ride it out alone. If they do, the mate can come and go freely. We just hold the line between this,” he gestures with a finger between the two of them, then at the outside, “and that. Other than keeping these rooms clean, their nests comfortable, _them_ comfortable, we’re here as protection.”

“So what does protection do when the mate turns out to be an assbutt?”

Despite the odd insult, the memories are instant. Dean tucks his chin, pursing his lips and shoots Castiel a dark look. 

“It is a very fair question, Dean.”

“I know it is.”

Dean chews his answer for a while, before opening his arms and letting them drop to his sides, his hands hitting his thighs. “A fair answer then. Truthfully, it would depend highly on who is working the shift and how much heat they’re prepared to take for intervening. I personally would kick their ass and hand them over to The Bunker, banning them from the Fort. Which wouldn’t solve it permanently, but at least cut them some slack. Hellfire, I’d ban them from The Gathering and our lands, if I had any say in it.”

“And get you in a lot of shit.”

Dean gives a dismissive shrug. “Nothing new there,” he says, shooting Castiel a quick smile. It doesn’t seem to break through his marble exterior.

How much shit exactly he’s taken for it in the past and how much he’d willingly take for it in the present, he leaves unspoken. Castiel nods several times, his face softer than before as he takes in the surroundings and abruptly leaves. For the second time today, Dean stares at the way he moves away from him. He parts his lips, panting lightly. The scent of milk sweetened with herbal honey prickling in his nose has him frowning in wonder at the intoxicating aroma and why it is breezing through the blockers like it is on a quest.

The lick of the flames on his skin is comforting, its snap and crackle mesmerizing. A night ago he’d been holed up in his cloak alone, backed against the warmth of Baby. Now he is surrounded by at least fifteen Nomads, the majority of whom he’s never met before. They are nameless faces mostly, smiling, singing, laughing, but welcoming. His nose tells him that most of the blockers have worn off, sinking him into an almost overpowering lake of both familiar and new, wildly intoxicating scents and aromas. If he focuses he can pick up the ocean’s brine.

The aching hole in his chest hurts like a motherfucker at the overwhelming headiness of his surroundings. And the sight of the ever-growing puppy pile near the fire. Kevin is the second-eldest of the youngins. Charlie’s friend as he learned, now engulfed by a handful of pups. All of them are Nomad little ones of various sizes and ages, equally rambunctious. He thinks about three of them belong to Sam’s group. Dean spots the little blonde he saw this morning, eyeing him on the regular during play. Their yips and howls blend with the murmur of conversation and the vibrant songs.

The uneasy feeling mixes with the writhing in his gut. When he sits down next to Sam and feels Eileen lean in immediately, her head on his shoulder soothes the first of many absents. From the corner of his eye, she gestures at him.

“ _He has missed you. We both have_.”

Dean presses his cheek into her forehead, the pain of _missing_ paralyzing his already debatable social skills. This upheaval is new, unexpected, but he discerns his own loneliness well enough to realize the contrast was disturbing him. It should pass with every touch, every scent, every confirmation he is not entirely packless. 

He hopes.

 _“I have missed you both_ ,” he gestures back, secure in the knowledge his voice can’t break.

Eileen rests her chin on his shoulder, her face an inch away. He smiles at her when she presses her cheek to his, sharing their scent. The unsteady sigh escapes him, his eyes falling shut, before he can assert control. When he reopens them, she eyes him knowingly, that impish smile on her face. He hasn’t spent a lot of time with her obviously, but one thing is quite clear. They are both know-it-alls, her and Sammy, in their own ways.

“ _It’s alright_ ,” she says. “ _I understand._ ”

Sam drops down next to Eileen, draping himself over her, his large hand landing on Dean’s neck, successfully squishing them together. Dean does not mind. In fact, he could do with a warm body on his other side.

“How’s Charlie?” he asks.

“She was a bit out of it and asking for Dorothy, I think. Have they met?”

Dean grins, Eileen mirroring him, as they both look at Sam. “Maybe? She might be working the night shift. Did you see her?”

“No,” Sam says. “I only checked in on Charlie quickly. Haven’t seen Dorothy yet.”

“That could become interesting.”

“A touch messy too, seeing where they both belong.”

“ _Sam, don’t start_.”

Dean snorts at Eileen’s instantaneous response and grins cheekily at his brother. “Yeah, Sam, don’t start.”

When Sam glares at both of them, Eileen isn’t cowed. Dean, however, decides to try and find the bottom of his mug, dodging the potential escalation. The drink soothes his throat and settles some of the unease in his stomach. He needs to think less and sink deeper into the moment. For as long as The Gathering lasts, he has this.

Chugging the whole mug, he slowly bares his throat, feeling the heat of the flames on it. Setting the mug down between his folded legs, he tugs at his leathers, undoing the laces, glad to have thrown off the chain mail in Sam and Eileen’s tent. His weapons are there too, aside from the knife in his right boot, which still leaves him feeling naked. Price to pay to spend time within an encampment he has no business being in.

The alternative was The Bunker and he doesn’t want to be without the skies above him. Among other things.

A sizeable body drops into the empty spot next to him. “If it isn’t one of my favorite idjits returned.”

“Bobby?!”

He is stuck in a neck vice before he can take a decent look at his former mentor. “It’s about time you showed up, boy! Karen was beginning to think you weren’t real.”

“Karen?” he yelps from within the warmth of the older man’s aggressive loving embrace. When Bobby releases him, Dean musses through his hair and rubs the sore spot, feigning indignation. “You mean to say there’s a woman willing to put up with your rude ass?”

An unfamiliar face appears at Bobby’s shoulder, as she sits down, legs crossed. The wrinkles in her face are deep and contrast with her tanned skin. Dean senses her wit and warmth instantly and catches Bobby’s smug smile at the effect she has on him.

Dean tilts his head at her, a slow, languid smile splitting his face, eyes alight with mischief. “Hi, there, I’m Dean, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and experienced women? Also whatever Bobby told you about me is likely a lie, except that I’m his favorite.”

Bobby clips him in the back of the head at the same time Sam kick him in the butt cheek, his long ass limbs draped around Eileen somehow. Karen laughs, an involuntary snort escaping her that has Dean laughing along with her. She puts two hands to his cheeks in a loving gesture.

“Oh, Bobby, he’s a lot more charming than you said.”

Dean is pretty sure he hears Sam and Bobby groan in exasperated unison, while Eileen snickers helplessly. 

Better people might have resisted the urge to shoot Karen a saucy wink. Not Dean. The woman throws her head back laughing as she lets go of him.

“Told you Bobby lied. Yeah, bet you didn’t miss that,” Dean beams at them smugly. 

Bobby glowers at him. “Can’t say I have, boy. But I’m glad you’re in one piece and back with your family.”

He schools his features to a warm smile, genuinely happy on Bobby’s behalf. “Pleased to meet you, Karen. I’m happy you and this old grump found each other.”

“This old grump taught you every trick in the damned book.”

Her hand closes over Bobby’s knee, as she leans closer, giving Dean a whiff of almonds. “Of course you did. Just like that?”

Dean tilts his head, giving her a surefire nod. “Just like that. Bobby’s a good catch and he deserves whatever happiness this world can spare.”

“Don’t we all,” Karen smiles.

Shooting Dean a grimace, which makes him feel like he is fifteen all over again, Bobby pulls out a wineskin and refills the mugs in front of their little pile. He lifts his own towards the middle, in front of them, Dean flanked warmly on all sides.

“Let’s hope The Gathering has some to spare for everyone.”

“ _Let’s hope_.”

“Let’s help them see the necessity of finding it.”

Dean nods at Sam, because despite everything they really are on the same page. 

As he chances a look around the fire, he finds Castiel. To be fair, he’s been drawn to him time and again as the night progressed… He is sitting close to the flames, coat chucked, two or three buttons of his shirt undone, while he warms his hands. Dean’s blood runs faster at the sight of tanned skin and a trail of chest hair, contrasting with the shirt. Curious, he studies the man sitting to Castiel’s left. A square-jawed, blond man with a perma-squint to his gentle eyes. He isn’t leaning into Castiel, but they are visibly familiar with each other. Dean sways with the curiosity that triggers.

Through the shimmering air above the fire, Castiel’s sapphire gaze meets Dean’s. A shiver runs from his tailbone up his spine when he feels the intensity of those eyes like a caress on his skin. His brain fogs out everything but Castiel. His mind skips to the feeling of Castiel pulling at the chains. Intuitively, Dean leans forward, holding the mug to his chest where his heart is beating wildly. He licks his lips, the sounds of his family talking over him overpowered by the sound of crackling flames as his speeding heartbeat rushes like running water in his ears. Castiel’s face is unreadable, but he doesn’t look away. Barely blinks.

Dean wants to pad over, get closer, push his nose into Cas’ neck and figure out… what? He feels an urge to shift forms, run wild into the forest. Perhaps Cas will chase him, if he does. Their eye contact has the makings of a battle for dominance, the potential for which sends a jolt back down his spine to settle low in his stomach, a warm hunger pooling. Castiel’s eyes seem cool, but everything about him feels hot enough Dean thinks it can warm all the lonely spaces in his heart. Or burn him to a crisp. Either way. 

After what seems an eternity of residing outside the present within their cocoon, Castiel’s eyes flick away and up to the stars. Dean follows suit without giving it a second thought, falling backwards onto the blanket. He can still see Castiel’s face outlined against his retinas while he runs lost among the stars.

“Daddy?” Claire whispers.

Castiel jolts out of his tunnel vision, the outline of Dean’s form visible even when he closes his eyes. She snuck up on him. He tears his attention away from Dean, appalled they’re so noticeably drawn to each other. The Alpha is fearless in the way he seeks him out, which is setting off alarms in his mind. He doesn’t understand why Dean is here instead of with his father and the other Alphas, where he obviously belongs.

“Yes, my heart,” he says, as he looks at her.

He’s pleased she’s diligent in how she addreses him. His daughter doesn’t do diligence, but at least in that, she obeys him.

“Why do we have to stay within the flags?”

“Mostly for safety.”

She peers past the boundary into the dark. There’s plenty of movement, as shifters move through the stalls in search of items and food. Voices travel their way. Occasionally someone ventures closer to their camp, curiosity apparent. Tribal cubs like to slip in and out of the camp, which the Nomads generally don’t mind, but seems to tick off Tribals when they catch them doing so.

“But why? Will they hurt us?”

“They can try! I will fight them!” Kaia jumps onto Gadreel’s neck.

Chuckling, he grabs hold of her and under her delighted squeals, pulls her over his shoulder into his lap, tickling her mercilessly.

“We protect you, little one,” Castiel says, smiling at the interaction.

When Kaia goes limp in his arms, Dree’s hand snatches out to prevent her from bonking her head on the ground. She somehow eyeballs both of them from her curious vantage point. “From a new war?”

“Why was they fighting the first time anyway?” Claire adds.

“They _were_ fighting, because of different beliefs,” Gadreel says, struggling Kaia upright.

Castiel was twenty when the war ended. For Elysium, every war was about beliefs. The stories of their righteous God and his angels were etched in his brain to this day. To his family and the Elysian people, the faithless, warring, impure mud monkeys of the Tribes were a stain on the Earth. A conflict waiting to happen. Just another item on a list of conquests they needed to get to in due time. When they learned that Tribal pack members unwittingly trespassed on one of their holy sites, it wasn’t so much about the site as it was the perfect excuse.

Gadreel nudges him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“She asked what beliefs.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Well,” he starts, breathing in to buy himself some time. “Elysium believes in the one God.”

“Which one?”

“The one,” he repeats.

Both girls squint at him, Claire visibly annoyed. “But _which_ one?”

“What’s his name?” Kaia assists.

“He has no name. It is… like a title that is passed on from Alpha to Alpha.”

Claire’s eyes narrow, while Kaia’s go wide. They both settle in a lap.

“Cassie,” Gadreel mutters. “Are we really going to tell them that story?”

“Why not? They’ve been listening to all the other stories… That’s all this is. Another god story.”

“So he’s real?”

“As the Alpha to the pack, but supposedly he is the vessel for the one God.”

“Vessel?”

He picks up a mug and locates the nearest pitcher of mead. Lifting the mug, he looks from Claire to Kaia. “Pretend this is the Alpha of Elysium, okay?”

The girls nod. Gadreel’s eyebrow speaks volumes, but for some reason imagining his father as a dumb, clay mug amuses him. “And this,” he says, swirling the mead in the pitcher, “is God.”

He pours the mead in the mug. “The Alpha is the vessel for God.”

“So he’s full of God?”

A helpless guffaw escapes Gadreel and Castiel can’t help but smirk too. “They think so,” he nuances. “They believe God speaks through them.”

Kaia makes a face. “So it’s God asking for war?”

“Or the Alpha is lying,” Claire says on a shrug. “Cause Alphas lie, right?”

Castiel surprises himself with how fast he is to correct her. “Not all of them, my heart. Look around for a moment.”

Without even a hint of hesitation, her gaze travels to the other side of the fire, where Dean is. The way he behaves and smells makes it obvious enough that he’s Alpha, despite the fact that neither of their cubs have a lot of experience with them. There are a few others among the other Nomad groups, but they are a definite minority. Around this fire, Dean is the only one.

Claire tilts her head, as if confused by Dean’s prone form. “Okay, I guess,” she says. “So why fight over it?”

“Because the Tribes abide by different beliefs. Help me out, Dree.”

“Sam prays to Cernunnos, Karen to Sulis,” Gadreel offers.

“Bobby to Bé Chuille,” he adds.

Claire nods. “Who do you pray to?”

Mouth closed, he runs his tongue over his teeth, giving the honest answer some thought. “Why would you like to know?”

“Umm… To sort of see who I should pray to?” Claire sounds confused as she says it.

“Whoever you choose or no one at all.”

She chews the answer, her brow furrowed. When she looks to Gadreel, he knows he managed to dodge giving an answer. Kaia beats her to the question. “What about you, Dree?”

He sees a similar reluctance in Gadreel. For as long as they’ve been away from Elysium, neither one of them ever found it in them to worship anyone else. There’s something about the zealotry that either sinks into your bones or breaks them. Holding to no faith being a rarity in itself, proclaiming it still feels counterintuitive.

“I trust nature,” he replies. “No one deity, though I suppose all packs do that. Cernunnos and Sulis are nature gods.”

Which is when it dawns on Castiel and he looks around to check if anyone has been listening. He does not need anyone realizing their extensive knowledge of the Elysian religion. Though his book collection suggests he has a myriad of interests, they need to be careful here.

“And what about the Tribes?”

“They hold to a pantheon per pack, more or less, though all of them are free to worship individually. If they so choose.”

Gadreel nods in confirmation. “Though it is frowned upon if they choose a deity outside their pack’s pantheon, I believe.”

“But their Alphas aren’t gods?”

A derisive scoff makes its way out before he can curb it. “Some think they are, but no. Do not let any shifter or anyone else for that matter ever tell you they are gods.”

“Their Alphas,” Gadreel picks up the sensible bit of the conversation, “are the ones who make the laws.”

“Like the rules of a game?”

“Sort of, except it isn’t really a game. It is… all of this,” he says.

Gadreel is clearly annoyed at his lack of eloquence. Because how do you explain life and its flaws while safeguarding the inherent beauty of it? Often enough Gadreel accuses him of being blind to it, but he knows better. Every night spent under the stars, connecting the constellations like freckles on tanned skin, he wills himself to remember. The names of the stars, one brighter than the other, but always there, snug in the darkness surrounding them. His mother taught them to him during the few years he had her and he teaches them to the girls.

“Like Alphas get to choose their mates,” Kaia says, her clear voice pulling him away from the memories. “And no one can do anything about it, even if you don’t want it. Like my momma and poppa.”

His attention zones in on her in Gadreel’s lap, pupils blown wide in the dark. Patience and Kaia were orphans, but neither one of them ever talked about their parents before. In Patience’s case, he suspects it is because she doesn’t remember. But this…

He winces at the expression that forms on Kaia’s slender face. She remembers something, alright, and his heart aches for her. She is much too young for such memories. She chews her lip, ripping pieces off and he reaches out to her, carding fingers through her hair. She whines softly when he gently eases a soothing sentiment through his scent.

“Do the Tribes do that too?”

“You’re relentless, little one,” Gadreel chuckles.

She glowers at him, clearly having none of Gadreel’s jokes or his dodging. “Well, do they?”

Gadreel looks to him for help, which irks her and her dark gaze finds his. He puts up his hand, lifting a finger. “I’ll answer your question as truthfully as I can, Kaia. What do you mean by ‘that’?”

“They are picking a new leader. Will that Alpha let us be? Or will he force you all to find mates?”

“Break up our group,” Claire says on a panicked exhale.

He pulls her closer to his chest. “Never. It doesn’t matter who the Alpha is, I will never let them do that to any of you.”

They believe him. They’re too young not to. And yet…

“My momma and poppa didn’t listen either. That’s why they’re dead.”

“We will go far away if we have to,” Gadreel adds. “There’s more than one way to not listen, as you well know.”

That finally gets a smile out of both girls. He lets go of the breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding.

“And we are here to see if we can break the rules a bit. How does that sound?”

Claire grins wide, her teeth flashing white in the dark.


	3. White Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alphas take center stage: John Winchester of the Hunter tribe, Fergus ‘Crowley’ MacLeod of the Ember tribe, Bartholomew of the Fallen tribe. Jody is by Dean’s side, as his father’s second-in-command. Ruby and Azazel are standing at Crowley’s back. The Fallen being the smallest pack, April hovers alone near her father.
> 
> Amara is sitting beside Zachariah, Metatron behind them. They brought in a unit of three soldiers, led by a tall man with dark skin and darker eyes. His history lessons provide him with a name: Michael. The reputation he holds now was cemented during the war, when he was excessively young, but utterly ruthless. He notices how the Elysians mercilessly observe all of them, taking in their cues and trying to pick up scents. There’s something in the way their gazes keep going back to the Nomads present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles for chapter 2 and 3 come from [White Noise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTSq1M1atvs) by Murder By Death. I went down a genre rabbit hole for this fic (mostly).
> 
> I massively enjoyed writing the dynamic between these two. And by these two I mean both Dean/Charlie and Dean/Cas.
> 
> Hugs to you for being here! Drop me a line if you have the time/energy.  
> Mal

Dean clutches onto the pewter mug, warm in his hand, as he makes his morning rounds through the hallways of The Fort. His night’s sleep has not been as restful as he hoped, which has nothing to do with the drink and everything with the amount of people in the camp: howling or crying pups, people shuffling around, the steady drum of music until deep into the night, because it is a festival and no one sticks to a regular schedule. 

He stays in Sam and Eileen’ tent, Baby safe among their horses. She bit at one of their pushy studs and sidled up alongside another, older mare. The comfort of the warm tent is offset by the energies mingling within and without. The little blonde stumbling in somewhere along the night, disturbing his slumber with her soft whines, as she tried to cuddle up, is a vague, almost dream-like memory. He isn’t sure if it was really Castiel slipping in to get her or if he dreamt that up among the starry skies.

There is also that. Dreams. Dreams, which popped out of conscious existence in a puff of smoke the second he woke, but left him feeling unmoored and trying to unravel the dream emotions from his real ones.

In the morning, when he dug up the precious pouch with coffee grinds, he’d drawn in a small handful of curious Wanderers. Said pouch will now need a refill and with any luck the vendors carry some. The early risers in tents close by sniffed their way towards the bubbling concoction. He’d spotted only one other cooking fire being used that early in the day. Kevin joined Dean, the night’s sands still in his eyes as he rubbed them and leaned into Dean sleepily. 

It takes him by surprise, the ease with which they let him join around their campfire. Even as Sam’s older brother, there is little reason to trust him within the boundaries of their safe space. Who is, in fact, to say they trust him? As close as it seemed to come to it last night, the Nomads are notorious for not having a classical pack hierarchy. They have no Alpha, even when one resides in their midst.

Musing on how deeply he craves the togetherness, Dean works his way top to bottom through The Fort. With his free hand, he pushes the sturdy cart, stacked with goat and cow milk, bread, cheeses, meats, and a larger variety of fruits and nuts than they usually have, thanks to the merchants at The Gathering. He savors the coffee, slow and grounding, and the easy comfort of his surroundings.

They try to scatter the Fort residents as far apart as possible for as long as they can. He knocks on the doors marked as occupied, checking in with them. There are a total of nineteen shifters, which is the average compared to the seven hundred or so currently residing at The Gathering. More will follow and fill out the empty spaces. Some are too deep in their solitary throes or each other to respond. He slides plates, piled full, through the latch at the bottom of the doors when they don’t open. Talks briefly with the ones who do respond, checking in with their state of mind and needs, promising to send in sheet refreshments or have messages delivered.

When he gets to Charlie’s door, she beats him to it, slamming open the little window shutter before he can knock. Her flushed face grins up at him, fingers pressed into the square, the tips whitening. She is clearly standing on her tiptoes.

“Dean!”

“How did you know?”

“I recognize your footstep.” 

“Already? Good ear.”

“Hell, yes. Hiya, Dean.”

“Hey, Charlie,” he smiles. “How are you?”

“Horny.”

“Can’t help you there, sweetheart. Besides that.”

“Hangry.”

He chuckles. “You’re in luck. I come bearing gifts. Are you good to open up?”

“Yes, but not for very long. It’s been a while since my last spike.”

She unlocks the bolt from her end, Dean doing the same on his, and he steps inside. Charlie is wrapped in one of the many blankets, her hair mussed up, and she moves a touch sluggishly. The room is heavy with her scent, the bed an utter mess. He’s done this work often enough to move to the table by the window with ease, breathing shallowly. The rising sun falls through the bars, scattering ominous shadows through the room into the hallway, but Charlie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, question.”

“Shoot,” he says.

“That dark-haired girl with the red lips…”

Going over the roster in his head, he zones in on who that is easily enough. It lines up with what Sam told him at the bonfire.

“She’s hot, right?” Dean makes an effort to keep his grin muted, but Charlie tilts her head at him. 

“Dude. She is.”

“Dude, what the hell?” he echoes. “You’re like a female version of me. What is this?”

“ _Dude_ , I wouldn’t mind one bit if the world saw me that way. You’re hot and badass. And safe.”

Dean exhales while he squints at her. For some reason, they took to each other at the snap of a finger. He kept her company as much as possible during his early shift, talking through the door about everything and nothing. 

“The girl with the red lips?” he repeats, putting his hands in his hips.

“Yeah, she worked the night shift. What’s her name?”

“You mean to say you were shy and didn’t ask her?”

She palms into his chest, a surprising amount of strength there, as she sits down. “ _Winchester_.”

“That’s my name. Or packless, depending who you talk to.” 

He winks at her, when her hands still at the words. Her stomach growls and she starts wolfing down chunks of bread and cheese, speaking around mouthfuls of it, visibly upset.

“Tha’ waF juFt Wude.” She swallows, chasing it down with the milk. “Fuckin’ Alpha.”

Realising what she just said, Charlie coughs through the awkward feeling, turning wide eyes on him.

“Oh, no, I’m with you there,” Dean grins. “The Alphatude was a bit much.”

She laughs at the word. “Sure as fuck was.”

“As for Red Lips… Her name is Dorothy, I believe she was running the night shift,” he offers, unsure why he’d brought up the insult from yesterday. “She’s one of ours.”

“You mean she’s from your tribe?”

“Yep, we grew up together. Why?”

Charlie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and continues chewing. “I dunno… she…”

Her eyes soften as she clearly loses her train of thought and Dean smirks, making note to talk to Dorothy when he sees the opportunity. A knock at the door makes Charlie jump. Dean turns towards the door, a hand on his sword, and his chest tightens at the sight as butterflies flutter within.

Castiel. 

He looks freshly washed, dressed in dark brown pants and a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up. The sun lights up the patches of wet skin he missed when drying off. Dean sighs at the view, resisting the urge to scent the air, but even at this distance, he can tell Castiel is more relaxed by the stance of his hips and shoulders. Physically, at least. It is deceptive. Dean angles towards him, sensing something coiling below the surface of his skin.

“Morning, Cas.”

There is a subtle furrowing of his brow, while Castiel rubs his fingertips together, like his skin is itching. 

“Good morning, Dean.” He stands a touch taller, as he nods and gestures inside. “May I?”

Charlie looks over, her mouth full, and makes an impatient gesture at him. With an easy-going chuckle that seems to tickle the hairs on Dean’s arms, Castiel walks inside. 

“How are you?”

She points at her hamster cheeks and gives him two thumbs up, as she grabs her drink.

“Horny and hangry, is what I got,” Dean says. “So we have the last one covered.”

Castiel gives a curt nod, his eyes flicking back to her. “No trouble during the night?”

With a loud exhale, she finishes the mug of milk. “Nope. This place is a lot nicer than it sounded. Look at that bed! An actual bed with a stuffed mattress! Oh, and… Hot girl as my night guardian.”

Castiel’s face relaxes, as he reaches out to her. Charlie hooks her fingers into his in an instant, closing her eyes when he plants a kiss to her forehead. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the genuine affection he senses in the air. He looks outside, focusing on the few people he can see wandering about.

“Good. I am relieved to hear it.”

The way his voice quivers around the word ‘relieved’ has Dean wondering what kind of disaster Castiel expected to befall Charlie under their care. In quick succession he ponders what he has been through. He’s different than any shifter Dean has ever met and he’s met plenty over the years.

Most, if not all of them had more than just cause for their seething anger, deep-rooted fear and often bitterness. Mainly it was the restlessness that gave them away. Yet none of them come close to the way Castiel carries himself, the air around his skin shimmering with fiery urgency in an intuitive way the Omega himself may or may not always be aware of.

Is Dean the only one who feels it? 

The way Charlie and Sam look at Castiel, Dean thinks he has to be. Perhaps he has been alone for too long. Solitude is known to flirt with the darker side of sanity.

Charlie’s smile turns to a grimace and she grips the edge of the chair, hunching forward.

“You guys need to get out. I like you. A lot. But you don’t need to see me get my rocks off.”

“We’re bringing in a change of sheets later today, if you like.”

“Nah, I’m good for now. I mean, it smells like me… Now, out. Out, out. I’m sorry you came over for nothing, Castiel.”

Castiel moves with Charlie’s pushes indulgently, his voice oozing warm smiles. “That’s alright, sweetheart, I just needed to know you were safe.”

“Gadreel already checked in too, last night. And Sam. No worries, I am safe and feeling very loved.” She shrugs and tilts her head, eyes rolling up. “Well… loved in some ways.”

Dean picks up the plate and mug, setting them back on the cart in the hallway as the door locks behind them. “Want me to send Dorothy over?”

“Yes. NO! Wait, maybe. Stop confusing me.” Charlie shoots him a pout through the little window, before slamming it shut. “No eavesdropping!”

Dean whistles in amusement, cocking his head to the side in obedience, even though she can’t see it.

“Bit of a firecracker,” he smiles.

“That she is,” Castiel nods. 

They fall into step towards the stairs, maintaining silence that has Dean’s heart flip-flopping. He wonders if he should say something. This is new and he has no fucking clue why he is being so weird around the guy that calls him a pup. Stealing a look at him, Castiel appears calmer than yesterday, his body moving with easy grace, shoulders relaxed. Water apparently does him good.

Dean pushes the cart to the pulley system at the end of the hallway. He maneuvers it inside and sends it down, which apparently intrigues Castiel sufficiently to stay by his side.

“Interesting system,” he says, pointing at the ropes and wheels.

“We made a few changes,” Dean offers.

“So I noticed.”

“You’ve seen the building before?” 

An innocent enough question, Dean thinks, until he sees the change. Castiel’s face doesn’t budge an inch, but Dean becomes aware of the air around him crackling like lightning. The mood shifts before his eyes.

“Do you always pry like this?”

“Are you always such a prickly bastard?” Dean fires back.

“Usually, yes,” Castiel smirks, voice dropping low with smugness.

Holy shit, does he have the ability to bewilder Dean. The sudden tension between them tightly coiled, they make their way downstairs. Dean purses his lips, trying to will his face to neutrality. He wants to figure out too many things at once, which always nets him the same result. Cluelessness. His attention is drawn to the noise outside.

The sound of multiple footsteps.

Marching footsteps.

An army’s footsteps.

The murmur of voices rising and falling in tightened wonder slowly being drowned out.

He grips Castiel’s lower arm, which succeeds at drawing him from his mood, and their eyes lock. Those sapphire eyes are swallowed by dread. That’s all he sees and _fucking feels_ from Cas _._ Whatever experience they share, it clicks into place at the same time. Castiel starts moving a split second before Dean does.

“Cas, wait…”

They move as one towards the front doors and step into the sunlight together.

There, marching in rows are soldiers clad in gleaming silvers and pale blues. On their chest the clean outline of angel wings. An army that has not set foot on Tribal lands in over two decades. Spearheading the unit of about fifty are three figures. A statuesque woman with long, wavy hair, eyes lined with kohl, is wearing a sensible black leather outfit, a long coat reaching to her calves. A balding man with bulging eyes, takes in his surroundings with an ownership that is out of place. Except Dean immediately wonders if it truly is. Lastly a shorter, stocky man with a full beard and curly dark hair, is hurrying to keep up and holds himself as if he needs to compensate for it. 

Teeth bared, Dean breathes hard through his nose, his concerns ricocheting into full-blown dread the way only memories of war can. As vague as they are for him, Dean remembers. Amara Novak. Zachariah and Metatron Milton. Dean remembers the names. The reputations they weaved with blood and steel throughout history. Alphas, every one of them, with a penchant for zealotry and manipulation. The haunting tune of The Devil Below echoes in his mind. If even half the stories about them are true, Dean wishes they stayed behind their walls. Far away from him and his loved ones.

He is standing shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, cognizant of his presence. When he glances over, he gets a lot more than he bargains for. Horror does not come close to what he sees in Castiel’s eyes, the fear in the stance of his eyebrows. The way his face works its way through confusion, despair and dawning, horrified realization in rapid succession. Its intensity almost crushes Dean’s heart in his chest. Dean becomes aware of Castiel’s hand, gripping his shoulder painfully, the pressure searing through his leathers into his skin like a hot knife. For a second it feels like Castiel leans in for comfort and Dean catches himself angling to provide.

A glorious moment of feeling Castiel’s warmth across his whole flank has Dean’s mind veering off course. They are almost close enough for his breath to touch Cas’ skin. He swears he hears Cas mutter ‘ _Nonononopleaseno’_ under his breath, before Castiel seems to realize. Their closeness. Snarling low in anger, he tears his gaze away from the intruders to meet Dean’s. Deep regret mars his features and he backs away, leaving a painful cold spot in his wake. He shakes his head at Dean, averting his eyes and walks away, before Dean can stop him.

Dean is not surprised when a messenger from his tribe comes to find him shortly after, summoning him to The Gathering. Sam is already there, looking absolutely miserable and determined at the same time.

He is however surprised when Castiel joins them too.

Dean is standing at his father’s right shoulder and scans the surroundings. The Gathering does not take place inside any building. It is a location overseen by the forest edge meeting the garnet sands of the plains, the sound of the ocean and the gulls in the skies coming in over the high cliffs. Marked only by the presence of the white, stone hexagon-shaped table and benches, dug into the soil. It looks deceptively peaceful, if somewhat fragmented within its lush surroundings.

John leans on the smooth surface of the table. The white stone is resistant to the elements, despite its closeness to the ocean. Its origin is obvious by its color alone. From his vantage point, Dean sees the subtle, angry pulsing in his father’s cheek. Excluding himself, a total of thirteen people are sitting at or standing around the pentagon, but gathering around them are more people than usual. The unique circumstances draw everyone from the woodworks.

The Alphas take center stage: John Winchester of the Hunter tribe, Fergus ‘Crowley’ MacLeod of the Ember tribe, Bartholomew of the Fallen tribe. Jody is by Dean’s side, as his father’s second-in-command. Ruby and Azazel are standing at Crowley’s back. The Fallen being the smallest pack, April hovers alone near her father. 

Amara is sitting beside Zachariah, Metatron behind them. They brought in a unit of three soldiers, led by a tall man with dark skin and darker eyes. His history lessons provide him with a name: Michael. The reputation he holds now was cemented during the war, when he was excessively young, but utterly ruthless. He notices how the Elysians mercilessly observe all of them, taking in their cues and trying to pick up scents. There’s something in the way their gazes keep going back to the Nomads present.

Because amidst all these volatile energies, Dean looks to Sam, Castiel and Bobby. Their presence is a thorn in every typical Alpha’s side. _Morrigan’s cowl_ , this whole group is an insult to them and his mother, who isn’t allowed anywhere near these tables, only on the outskirts of it. With the plebs. Dean grits his teeth hard enough that it hurts, when he finds her in the crowd packing around The Gathering. He scans the growing mass of shifters, picking out one familiar face after another. His grandmother, Deanna. Jody’s friend, Donna. Kevin with the dark-haired girl at his neck. Dorothy. Kate and Adam. Gadreel with the little blonde on his arm. Garth with a woman by his side, both of them holding a kid. He looks back when he sees a face that stands out. In its scarring, though it is barely a glimpse he catches from within the hood. A tug of familiarity. Then they move and they’re gone. 

Each of them directly affected by the decisions about to be made by the select few. 

Presiding over this moment is Rowena, her lithe frame wrapped in a tight, bright red dress that pools around her ankles. No shifter. A witch. A wise woman. An oracle. Dean isn’t sure what she is exactly. Her age is a mystery. They only know her name and reputation. People travel far and wide to seek her advice and make use of her spells, if they can afford it. The way she speaks of the war, she witnessed it, yet no one seems to know where she came from or where she belongs. She is supposed to be a true neutral. A sentiment Dean begs to differ with wholeheartedly since he trusts the woman about as far as he can throw her. His skin crawls the next second and he looks to her, only to find her heavily-made up eyes glittering at him.

Rowena puts a pale hand onto the table. A flame erupts in its middle, as oil catches fire and lights up the Ogham inscription carved into the stone slab. Blackthorn. Her lips curl in a wide smile as she spreads her arms, gathering everyone’s attention to her.

“Welcome to The Gathering,” she says. “It has been a long time since you all sat around this table, forging an alliance of peace and trade which holds to this beautiful spring day. Your bond is built on trust and respect as well as memories of darker times, all left behind for the sake of your people.”

Dean manages to keep his face neutral. He thinks he does. She’s good at stories, Rowena. He wills himself to calm and observes those present. Most of them are looking at her. Amara’s darkly made up eyes catch his briefly, but he can’t read her. Michael behind her, however, is doing the same as Dean. The way he smiles at Castiel is unsettling. When Dean looks to Cas, his face is blank. Not neutral. Blank, as if he’s here, but not all here. Cas is looking at Rowena, slowly scanning everyone else, but something is so off, Dean’s stomach turns.

“Amara, Zachariah and Metatron of Elysium, you request the Tribes’ ear for a matter of grave importance, side-stepping convention by showing up on tribal lands unannounced. The Tribes act in good faith by allowing your presence during this important event. In light of the Tribal Alpha vote ahead, it was decided to give you the platform to speak, so this may be taken into account as the Tribes move forward. Lastly, the Nomads are here to request recognition of their kind as a separate pack, free and safe to roam and settle as they please as equals.”

A bristle goes through several shifters at the table. Zachariah tenses as he sits up, nostrils twitching in disgust. It’s a mere moment, but Dean catches it. April barely suppresses an eye roll. John casts a cursory glance around the table, looking at Sam, then Dean, and back to Rowena. A wave-like effect extends to the audience. Ignoring the swirling of emotions around the table, Rowena nods at Amara.

Dean folds his arms on the table, putting the fingers of one hand to the stone. Regardless of how much sun it gets, the stone is always cool to the touch. As he taps his fingers gently, he gives in to the intrigue he feels towards Amara, how she carries herself and the subtleties in behavior between her and her nephews. The stories about Elysian family ties and dynamics are notorious and no one knows how many of them are true. From how they present themselves, they seem so collected, Dean is sure he could lock them under a glass dome and they’d be what they seem. Perfect.

“Thank you, Oracle Rowena,” Amara says, nodding her head. 

Her face remains neutral, though he thinks he sees a crinkle of emotion around her eyes.

“I must apologize for our rather dramatic entrance and any upset we may have caused. We would be delusional if we did not sense the change on the air upon arrival.”

The way she is looking around the table, making unabashed, sincere eye contact with each of them, Dean is impressed. She looks honest. Open in her approach. His senses tell him something else. Zachariah is different, though he doesn’t give much away beyond that. Just different. Metatron’s vibe is skittish, but that seems to be his default. He inhales slow and deep, trying to worm his way past the myriad of blockers, but keeps his other senses engaged.

“We hold to this alliance, because of the unwavering foundation of peace between our packs these past twenty years. Both sides have abided by the agreement. Trade has flowed both ways. Our people have travelled to and from each other’s lands with their families, forming new ties and friendships. We have come a long way, despite our continued differences.”

“Or perhaps because of them,” she adds, glancing to the Nomads.

Castiel sits perfectly still under her gaze while Sam narrows his eyes. Bobby’s holding up better under the general atmosphere, channeling some of his ease as he leans back to stretch. Amara smiles at the sight of them and Dean wants to think it’s real.

“Our family,” she says, turning to John. For a second, her brow furrows and something bleeds through, though whether strategic or not, Dean can’t say. “Our family… is in need of help.”

He watches his father’s countenance shift. “Speak your need plainly. The Tribes are listening.”

The murmur that goes through the onlookers is audible.

“Plainly,” she repeats. As if the word is dirty, she sighs and sits up straighter. “Our blood is dying out. We have lost our Omegas and we need new ones.”

Like she threw a stone into a quiet pond, the effects ripple out from her lips to those sitting at the table to the shifters around them. Dean hears the deep growl coming from his left, where the Nomads sit. Amara lifts her hands in placation immediately.

“I know how this sounds, but rest assured, that is not what we mean.”

The flicker in Zachariah’s face tells Dean something else. He holds his tongue, but looks towards his father, hoping to see equal amounts of vigilance reflected in him. What he finds is the prelude to a gathering storm.

“Speak plainer still, Lady Amara.”

“We do not wish to pluck up Omegas at random,” she says, “Our blood has been pure for generations, but we can’t keep our pack alive without them.” 

She seems to chew her words next, until Zachariah leans in.

“What we mean, plainly, Alpha Winchester, is that we would like worthy Omegas and who is worthier than our old opponent-turned-ally?”

As their surroundings murmur, moving like water once more, but wilder, agitated, John barks a laugh, sending Zachariah’s eyebrows up in an attempt to meet his balding scalp. “Us savages?" he bites, flashing his teeth. "You would mate with our kind? I question the truth in your words.”

For the briefest second, Dean’s heart swells with pride at his father’s gut-fueled response. 

“Please elaborate on that change of heart,” John adds. “As I recall, we were nothing but heathens who deserved to burn in your particular brand of hell.”

“Much like you disregarded our one god, our heaven as folly and our devil below as but a story. Water under the bridge on either side,” Amara says. The gesture she gives Zachariah is subtle. “We understand it is not our place to determine anyone’s faith. Or fate. We are here to ask for your help.”

She narrows her eyes briefly and somehow manages to catch everyone in her gaze. “The fate of our family is at your mercy.”

Crowley waves a hand, scrunching up his nose. “Remind me, darling, why we should care?”

“You should not,” she replies, shooting him a crooked smile.

Instant, without rancor, though again Dean catches a shift in Zachariah and something moving within the crowd. Amara follows Dean’s gaze and shoots him a look he can’t interpret. Almost like she is impressed.

“You should not,” she repeats. “Because despite all I’ve said, I see why you would not trust us. After all, what have we ever done to earn it, yes?”

“The color of the soil we’re on makes that a valid argument,” Sam says.

She lifts her chin, lips pursed, as she thinks, the cogs in her head turning. Suddenly, she gets up from the table, stepping over the bench. She takes in Sam and lets her gaze slide to Castiel. “I do not blame you. Even to me, this was a strange idea when it came to me in a dream.”

At those words, Dean looks up and Rowena stirs softly.

“We always prided ourselves on our family bloodline. Our strength. Our faith. Our purity. Our conquests. Our resilience,” she says and her voice lilts strangely on that last word. “Until that resilience started to wane. Our Omegas seemed weak. Our cubs… They keep…” She halts and clenches her jaw, which feels like the first genuine emotion she allows to seep through. 

Her eyes scan the crowd around them, finding plenty of children, clutching on to hands, sitting on arms or at their parent’s neck. 

“We have no cubs. None.” She turns to the Gathering. “We are dying and we need your help.”

“What happened to your Omegas?”

“Complications during pregnancy. Birth. I still have not figured it out… We have tried finding them among our people, but… our blood does not mingle well. I don’t know.” Real frustration slips out in a short snarl.

“Perhaps your one true god has left you?” Jody offers, her tone innocuous enough.

“Bollocks,” Crowley says. “It’s what you get for inbreeding. Or are we going to gloss over that particular tendency in your family?”

Zachariah scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I do question your intelligence if you put any stock in those stories.”

Amara stands tall and regal. Her head sways to the side like a predator’s, towards the crowd, once more. “Step forward.”

The audience murmurs and shifts, moving like bees, confusion obvious. It takes another heartbeat before he understands. Dean watches as the scarred man steps forward and halts in front of Amara, equals in height. She tucks her chin to look within the hood, her expression one of forbearance. He lowers his hood, revealing a damaged, scarred face. His hair stands in tall spikes. His pale blue eyes are red-rimmed.

“This is Lucifer,” Amara says. “He’s one of ours and he loves to roam secretly, although we would rather he didn’t.”

Something tugs at Dean at the sight, when Lucifer turns towards The Gathering and bows. There isn’t a deferential bone in that shifter’s body as he looks to the Tribal Alphas. His clever gaze flicks to the Nomads and lingers on Cas. He smiles at Sam in a way that is deeply unsettling.

“The war lingers for him,” Zachariah takes over from his aunt. “The loss of his Omega even more. He is still one of our best soldiers. Our best men.”

Dean can taste the lie and he jerks upright. He searches out Sam, who is visibly disconcerted by what’s going on. Whatever they hope to obtain, this turn of events is swiftly derailing it. When he looks to Castiel, he finds him equally unmoved. Apart from his eyes. They are glued on something just beyond Lucifer’s left shoulder, as if he’s chasing daydreams. Or nightmares.

Amara nods while she puts a hand on that same shoulder. “We seek no conflict with you. Only mending.”

John Winchester is standing in the middle of the private quarters of The Bunker, tucked all the way in the back. His legs are spread wide, arms folded, as he eyes both sons, face stony. 

“Now is not the time to uproot our own foundations. We have a foreign nation, an old enemy, in our midst with unclear intentions and an army at the ready.”

“Their intentions seem pretty clear to me,” Sam says. 

“Enlighten me, son.”

Sam scoffs, throwing his arms up in annoyance, as if it was all so fucking obvious and they were both deaf and blind. Dean beats him to it, because he knows how these conversations between his father and brother tend to go.

“They are asking us to hand over Omegas, like slaves. To strip them of their agency and they don’t have much to begin with. In the same breath the Nomads ask for independence! We want to do better!” Dean enunciates every next word with anger. “Just tell them to take a fucking hike.”

“Boy, have you forgotten the fear of your cub years?”

“Neither of us has forgotten, Dad,” Sam says. “But giving into this will only set us back. Years. The Tribes know… Ours grows by the month, more and more people who want to taste the freedom that’s been on everyone’s lips… and… If you give into Elysium now, over a problem they created for themselves for all we know…” 

“That freedom will not serve anyone, if we allow war to break out.”

“We will have a _civil_ war on our hands if you push us back,” Sam snarls. “We have no rights, no protection!”

“You would if you stayed with your pack. I will not be threatened with civil unrest in my own den.”

“But you’ll ignore the reality of it?”

“So what do you suggest?” Dean interrupts. Five years. Five years and they were still running in circles like wolves chasing their own tail."

“We find willing Omegas. We give them a choice.”

“You’re the Tribal Alpha, Dad,” Dean growls. “Whatever you fucking ask them, they will do it, especially if you or Rowena spin a nice story about safeguarding the tribe from war. They are wired for it. That’s not a choice. That’s manipulation.”

Inexplicably, Dean sees red at the thought of Castiel in that position. The knowledge that Cas would never submit leads him down a bloody and violent series of events. He tears himself away from it when he feels his wolf rise up in vengeful anger, ready for… for what? Revenge? He has to head it off before it can get to that. 

“Where will you get them? The Tribes? The Nomads?”

“Both. They’re as threatened by Elysium as we are.”

“Interesting,” Dean bites, “They can’t become a pack in their own right, but they’ll be asked to present for Elysium?”

“Oh, we’ll cross the fucking ocean, before it comes to that, if we have to,” Sam bites. His hazel eyes are brimming with emotion.

Dean ignores it, thoughts bouncing to Benny’s pack. Instead he focuses on the most pressing matter. At least to him. “And what will you do with those that refuse?”

John’s silence presses down on Dean’s ribs painfully, his sternum churning with nausea. He stares at his father, mouth agape. 

Surely these kinds of decisions, once made, cost you your soul?

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dad.”

John snorts. He possesses many qualities, but they all know a good sense of humour isn’t one of them. “We need to assemble the tribes. This isn’t just our call.”

“Amara said they seek no conflict,” Dean offers.

“And you believe her?” John asks.

“We are better as one, Dad, against Elysium, than we are siding with them,” Sam says.

Dean pushes, tries to plead for common sense. For hope. “I don’t know if I believe her, but we can draw the first line in the sand. Others will follow. We beat them before…”

“I can’t, Dean. You two loose cannons make my position tenuous as it is. The Tribes always come first, always.”

“We’re not loose cannons,” Sam snaps.

Dean follows suit, voice louder. “Our Omegas are part of those Tribes. Sam is supposed to be with us! Hell, Mom was in the crowd, Dad. Like her existence is nullified the second you step on stage, while we all know she advises you!”

John’s eyes flick to Sam and they’re suddenly like quicksand, swallowing both his sons up. “And they’ll do what needs doing to protect us. We all will. Your mother knows that. Just like you, whether you are part of this pack or decide to continue your wandering. We are done, boys.”


	4. La La Lu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean stops in his tracks abruptly, when he feels the tug. He smells her before he sees her. It’s the little blonde cub he’s seen running wild in the Nomad encampment. The one who snuck into Sam and Eileen’s tent, if his brain hasn’t tricked him.
> 
> Small, dirty hands are clasped around his scabbard. Two huge blue eyes stare up at him defiantly from a face framed by a mess of blonde hair, feathers and shells braided in. Her cheeks look like the sun forced her into accepting loving kisses, like elders are wont to do.
> 
> “Can I have it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song is [La La Lu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3v8sO5Vcqt4) by Órla Fallon. Apparently used in a Disney movie at some point, which I totally lost track of, believe it or not.
> 
> First fic where I'm using kids, I think? Have cub Claire. And just for kicks, the shell Cas sees, a piddock shell, is also known as angelwings, which, yes, is exactly why I chose it. ^^
> 
> And some cuddles,  
> Mal

Heartbeat pulsing through him at an alarming pace, Dean isn’t exactly aware of where he’s going. Sam bailed the second they got booted out of the tribal alpha meeting. Dean makes it out of the thick of the woods and almost stumbles into the din of the festival. He meanders through the stalls, the voices and music invasive. Shifters cut him a wide berth when they see his expression. Or equally likely smell him from afar. He stops when he gets to the point between the plains and the ocean, staring up at the blue skies. And starts pacing.

He can barely think straight. There is so much wrong at once, he doesn’t know what to tackle first.

Dean stops in his tracks abruptly, when he feels the tug. He smells her before he sees her. It’s the little blonde cub he’s seen running wild in the Nomad encampment. The one who snuck into Sam and Eileen’s tent, if his brain hasn’t tricked him. 

Small, dirty hands are clasped around his scabbard. Two huge blue eyes stare up at him defiantly from a face framed by a mess of blonde hair, feathers and shells braided in. Her cheeks look like the sun forced her into accepting loving kisses, like elders are wont to do. 

“Can I have it?”

Her fearless approach shocks him sufficiently for his mood to shift along with it. He furrows his brow, feeling the disbelieving, hesitant smile spread across his features. His sword is about as long as she is tall. On instinct, he shifts his weight to the other foot, so his scabbard hangs lower.

“I don’t think that’s going to work well, sweetheart.”

“My name is Claire.” Her knuckles turn white as she squeezes down on her loot, her lips setting in a firm line that somehow looks familiar.

“Alright, Claire,” he says, as he bends down on one knee to get to eye-level with her. 

It looks to take her by surprise, but she slips to his side, holding on stubbornly. He inhales subtly, as he cocks his head towards her, taking in her arms and legs full of the cuts and scrapes of youth. She is too young to present as anything. He frowns at the thought that her current behavior would have her pegged as an Alpha. As if it matters. 

She’s just a cub, potentially lost. Nausea sticks to the back of his throat like bile, when that realisation lines up, unforgivingly, with the conversation he just had with his father. With the way Elysium spoke of Omegas, how they just wandered in here, making demands no one should be comfortable with. Depending on how The Tribes decide to lean, this little one is at risk. No conditionals. She is at risk. Of rape and abuse and who knows what else... His stomach turns when he imagines what that means if the Tribes actually fail.

A soft whimper and she shoves him. The tyke shoves him with one paw, then clutches back onto the scabbard. Dean silently scolds himself and reaches in his pouch for the canister of scent blockers, as he reels his mind back to toe the fucking line. This was all on him, not his wolf. Perhaps a smidge was on his father. How dare he let his emotions get the better of him? In the presence of a cub, no less. A few practised wipes and he sits still, letting the chemistry do its work. Claire observes his every gesture with interest and crinkles her nose at the content of his canister. Aware that he needs to make amends, he softens his features and bestows his most charming smile on her.

“Have you ever held a sword before?”

She looks unimpressed. “Duh, yes,” she says. “But yours is pretty.”

“Why, thank you,” he says. “Which is kinda why I want to keep it. You see, my mom had it made for me.”

Abruptly she lets go. “I don’t have a mommy. I mean, I have several, we all do, but none of them are my real mommy.”

The words take some of the air out of Dean. In a smooth gesture, arms resting on his thighs, he squats, studying her. There is some dirt on her face. Her dress is made of simple cotton, dyed in the craziest colours. She steps closer, scrunching up her nose. Curious, he quirks an eyebrow at her. He finds her mirroring him the way only cubs that age can. Six or seven, maybe, judging by the size of her feet in comparison to the rest of her. He casts a quick look around, but finds no one showing signs of ownership.

“Well, do you have a daddy?”

She nods, but holds her tongue.

“You have nice eyes,” she says. 

Claire puts a slightly sweaty hand to his cheek and as she does so, his senses kick into overdrive. There is no way he can describe it, because there is something ineffable about him, but he knows in that instant whose she is. Beyond any shadow of a doubt.

“Can you pick me up? I want to see.”

Mesmerised by her scent, Dean opens his arms and she crawls onto his thighs into them. “See what, sweetheart?”

“Everything. You’re tall.”

He rises to his full length, straightening up completely. Two little arms curl around his neck, then abruptly she leans back with a giggle, looking at the world upside down. Panic surges as he scrambles to support her. Goddamn hell-for-leathers, cubs are, and then you have Nomad cubs. So strange, this moment, he thinks, and smiles when she continues to giggle while he spins her around. She curls back up into his arms, eyes alight and hair messier than before, the dust he kicks up with his feet carried away by the wind. 

His instincts rear up when Claire, without warning, pushes her cheek against his neck, scent-marking him. Gaping, he frowns at her and, aside from an uptick in the frequency with which her eyes skitter about, she gives no sign that she shouldn’t go around doing that…

After years of wandering the lands alone, Dean senses when someone is looking at him. When he scans the surroundings, like cockleburs their gazes catch and, once more, he is stuck on Castiel, the effects hooking under his skin. Castiel is standing on the colourfully marked edge of the Wanderer encampment. Far enough away Dean can’t be entirely sure if he is looking at him and Claire. The way he is holding so perfectly still, his back ramrod straight, hand up to shield his eyes against the sun, Dean can’t resist giving him a wave.

After a few breaths, Castiel returns it and Dean’s heart twirls like an excited squirrel around a branch.

He looks back to the babbling cub in his arms and, unwavering, his Alpha instincts kick in. _Protect._ She didn’t mention who her father was when prompted. She provided information on her mother or lack thereof unprompted. Dean presses his lips together and files it away, while he sets Claire down. She pushes him in the leg, for no seemingly reason other than she can, and starts barrelling back towards the camp at full speed, paying other people no heed as she ducks through their legs and cuts them off in their path. Within seconds, he loses sight of her and, giving it time, hopes he’ll see her pop up near Castiel… but she doesn’t.

Castiel looks around the camp, an unsettling feeling swirling under his sternum, its tendrils upsetting his gut. On good days, he never loses track of Claire, unless he knows whose hands she is in. Which is a challenge, no matter who has the balls to take her on. How she managed to give her sitter the slip this time around, Castiel isn’t sure nor does he care. His senses are on high alert. He should have let Sam and Bobby go alone. His guilt over losing her at a time like this, in a place like this, is only held at bay by the immediate, desperate urge to get her back in the safety of his arms.

Muscles going tight in anticipation of whatever he may find, Castiel sniffs the air. He stands on a precarious stack of recently chopped firewood to scan the area outside the encampment. Claire isn’t one for hiding in her favourite spots. Not with a whole new world at the tips of her fingers. And toes. A world now populated with ghosts from his past. Her past as well, though his daughter has no idea.

He sees the Elysian flag flapping in the wind.

Elysium set up camp on the cliffs. Of course they did. All John Winchester did was buy them time. He wonders if the Nomad request stands any chance. Or if Amara’s words held any truth. Zachariah’s behavior made that a hard ‘no’, but perhaps they were falling out, like an abandoned dusty cobweb falling apart. He shies away from the memory of Lucifer, because it risks unmooring him.

The Elysians aren’t leaving. Worse yet, they are moving between the mass of shifters at The Gathering. No uniforms. No armour. No colours of white and blue held high. Castiel picks the Elysians out like old familiars. Their gait. Their expression. Your average traditionalist carries themselves in a way that betrays them. How they move through a crowd and gaze at everything with an entitlement, as if all they have to do is reach out to crush or claim it. Elysians are worse. They do so stealthily. No one seems to register. Perhaps he is too sensitive, too paranoid.

Anger surges and he dismisses his paranoia about his paranoia. Claire. He mutely curses how much she takes after him when he was younger.

Claire’s shape, in fact, everything about her is etched in his core. He can pick her out anywhere, by form or scent, by step or voice, provided she isn’t too far away. He finds a familiar wild head of blonde hair at a surprising height. His heart leaps in his throat, when he sees a shifter holding her. A stranger. Spinning her around. Like she is theirs. A dangerous growl claws its way out. Castiel jumps down off the stack of wood. He surges forward to the edge of the camp, the bright pieces of fabric a loud warning. His insides swirl sickeningly at the idea of a stranger holding her. She is on the wrong side.

Shift. Charge.

Tear their throat out.

Too much. Get Claire.

Then the impending storm turns into a still eye, when his senses register _who_ is holding her. His breath pushes out of him violently. Castiel lifts a hand to shield his eyes. Sandy hair. Broad shoulders. Those legs. Even that sword. With dismay, he notices he already recognises the subtle tone of Dean Winchester’s body language. It speaks to him, even when he tries to turn a deaf ear. Castiel shies away from interpreting the dynamic between him and his daughter, so shamelessly on display.

His heart quivers in his throat, when Claire throws herself backwards. But Dean has her. A bit sketchy. And his heart returns to its normal position, but hammers away at a distressing pace. Arms wrapped firmly around Claire, Dean stills. He is looking around, similarly to how Castiel did a few moments ago. Reading the surroundings. Castiel’s skin itches, when inevitably almost, Dean looks his way, like there is no distance, no one else between them. Something inside shatters to such sharp pieces he can cut himself on. Castiel holds still for all the heartbeats they look at each other.

A wave of his hand is Castiel’s uncertain gift across the expanse.

His mind racing with a slew of questions and fear that Dean _knows,_ Castiel can only return the gesture. It takes another moment before Dean puts Claire back down. A rough, mildly amused exhale through his nose when he watches Claire shove Dean in the leg, for whatever reason, but those are usually his daughter’s own. He chuckles for a second at the obvious confusion in the way Dean responds to it. They both watch her take off running.

Towards the camp.

He keeps an eye on her, but she is small and fast and the worst little tyke sometimes. As soon as he is able to make out her features, she sees him too and it instantly becomes a game. He loses sight of her again. Castiel snarls out another expletive. Louder still, when he catches a whiff of her and the mixed scent she carries confuses him. Or perhaps the fact that he instantly recognises it confuses him. He dismisses it as he starts moving the same way he saw her vanish. He veers to the edge of the encampment, his gaze darting between and through the surrounding chaos.

Castiel looks up to find a pale woman with dark hair eyeing him. Her arms hang loosely by her side, but she folds them when Castiel dismisses her and follows his nose. She starts walking beside him on the other side of the flags.

“You lost someone.”

Her tone isn’t cheerful, but it doesn’t ooze worry either. The thought of loss cuts deep enough and he snatches his eyes to this stranger. Something about her dress code and the way she carries herself suggests she is local, which means she is likely a tribal member. The scent of Claire fading by the second, he glances around. There are too many shifters, too many scents… and he trusts none of them. He feels he can’t trust this woman either and yet he takes the gamble.

“One of our cubs,” he says, grimacing. He almost says ‘ _my cub_ ’ out loud. “She was running back to our camp, but she saw me and thinks it’s a game now.”

She nods, her heart-shaped lips pursing. “What does she look like?”

He gestures with a hand to about just north of his knee. An uncertain feeling swirls in his chest, telling him to stop talking and go find his daughter on his own. “About this high. Little blonde with beads and shells in her hair, colourful linen dress and shorts. Handful,” he adds through gritted teeth.

A sharp laugh from the woman. She is all business, though there is a twinkle to her eyes every time she looks at Castiel. “Alright, let me help. Do you have anything on you that smells like her?”

“Who are you?” Castiel narrows his eyes. Even if he did have anything on him that carries Claire’s scent, he would not hand it over.

“Meg. I’m from the Ember tribe. I was exploring the stalls with my niece, Ruby.” She gestures at another woman with long brown hair and an interesting set to her jaw. She lands large, dark eyes at Castiel with clever intent. “And you are?”

“What’s going on?” Ruby asks.

“Lost cub,” Meg says.

Castiel lets the question for his name slip out of her grasp.

“Are we working security now?”

Meg rolls her eyes, utterly unimpressed with her niece’s darker mood. Wary, Castiel doesn’t know what to make of either one. He opens up to observing them, briefly, but with sharp intent. He tries to gauge them, but he can’t fully focus, because of the blockers and the desperate urge tugging at him. 

“It’s a small effort, Rubes.”

Castiel nods and joins them on their side of the boundary. He starts moving, worried Claire’s scent is lost to him already. Meg and Ruby follow behind him.

“She tends to dodge like an expert, so we might need to herd her.”

“This happen often?” Ruby asks, voice deeper than her niece’s.

“Often enough,” Castiel says. “Not just with her. Cubs will never not explore..”

He meanders through the shifters, barely fighting back the urge to snarl and snap when he collides with some of them. They curl around two large tents, the sound of blacksmithing crisp and clear on the air, smoke billowing up. He keeps the camp to his right, hoping Claire did not venture into the din of the festival. When he walks behind one of the amenities tents, he notices the glint of pearly white catching the sunlight. A piddocks shell, which he knows can only be Claire’s. He picks it up and tucks it away in the pouch at his belt. When he hears the giggle, he makes sure _not_ to look that way. Smiling, he shakes his head.

“She’s close,” he whispers. “Take that side.”

He means for Meg to go, but Ruby beats her to it.

“Rubes, play nice,” Meg hisses. “I’ll stay here in case she sneaks out through the tent.”

Ruby dodges away from them as he keeps rounding the next tent. The scent of incense and scented candles is heavy here and he registers the presence of one or more oracles. Soothsayers, witches perhaps. Claire’s squeal reaches him, when Ruby’s words do as well.

“There you are, you little runt!”

It isn’t mean per se, but it’s familiar in ways Claire will not appreciate. Within seconds, Claire shoots past him like an arrow towards the camp this time. Castiel rushes after her, almost knocking into Ruby. The glimpse he catches of her face unnerves him.

“I got it from here,” he says, putting an unyielding timbre into his voice.

Ruby gives him a phony smile, as she steps back with her palms out. “Sure thing.”

Claire glances over her shoulder, as she runs and she looks genuinely scared. Angry-scared, but still. And then she’s gone again among the tents of the Nomads. Giving Meg a grateful nod, Castiel joins Claire on their side of the boundary. Hoping that in her current mood, she’ll go to their tent, he heads there straight away. Her scent gets stronger, the closer he gets. As soon as he enters it, she appears from within the sheets of his bed and scrambles towards him. Relief flooding him, he opens his arms and catches her when she jumps, heedless of anything else.

“Claire,” he mutters while he cradles her to his chest. “My heart, how you are careless.”

“What?” she asks, her tone mutinous in his shirt. “We were playing!”

Sitting down on the bed, Castiel kisses the top of her head, in search of her soothing scent. His body starts to shake when he gets flashes of Dean for his efforts, the not-so-foreign scent invading his senses. The cocky stance of his shoulders. The dimples. Moss-green eyes flecked with gold. Freckles. The Cupid’s bow of his lips.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

Castiel inhales, his vision returning to reality when he pushes the tempting scent of warm honeyed mead from his mind. He looks down at her and finds wide blue eyes on him, the scowl of childish scrutiny tugging at her brows.

“You have a smell on you, Claire. Who is it?”

“I don’t know his name, but he was really nice,” she smiles. At least she hasn’t taken to lying through her teeth yet, the way Castiel did at some point.

“We’ve talked about this, cub,” Castiel says, finding his stern reprimanding father’s voice back. He shifts her in his lap so he can look at her. “You have to be careful around strangers.”

“I know, but he was at the fire. You were looking at him. And he smells good.”

_Doesn’t he just_? Castiel thinks dryly, as he presses his lips in a tight line at being called out in that clear, innocent voice, even if Claire doesn’t realise it.

He can do without others telling him how good Dean smells and for the first time in a long time, he finds he can’t curb the emotions swirling inside him towards any kind of clear intent. Over the past decades, he’s alternated between fanning the flames of his resolve with anger and abiding by the more soothing touch of common sense. Each with a clear objective in mind: survival and safety. Dean seems to make that impossible.

“You can’t do this, Claire,” he snaps. “It’s not safe and you know better.”

Eyes suddenly brimming with tears, Claire pushes away from him. When she pulls at his shirt hard enough for buttons to pop and wails, he lets go of her instinctively. He loathes holding her against her will. When she escapes from his arms down the gap in the tent he made for her, he rushes after her over the bed. He’s about to slide off it, when he hears a familiar voice outside. Castiel sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. He sits down in the sheets, casting his eyes to the skies in a mute plea. Pointless to do so, and yet.


	5. Castaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is steeped in Cas. He opens his mouth, panting lightly, allowing it, him, to flood his senses, as he looks around and spots the nest in the middle of the tent. It takes a lot not to follow the lure of his singing heart and adjust the nest, make it better, mark it, scent it…
> 
> Down, boy, he admonishes his wolf. His rut is nowhere near imminent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title is [Castaway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUi0TDqoKr0) by Paddy and The Rats. A rather lovely, dramatic find a few months ago that makes me happy and also helped speed up my writing quite a bit.

On some level, he knows it is curiosity, a gravitation tugging at him, something he wants to sate, but a cub without supervision merits his attention, Dean rationalizes. He sees Castiel moving to meet her, but odd, because it’s sideways. Which probably means Claire is being a brat about it. Worry and annoyance ooze of Castiel’s frame. The way Castiel moves suggests worry. He debates it in his head silently, for too many heartbeats for his Alpha’s liking. Then Dean’s legs are moving before he can second-guess himself.

With satisfaction, he notices he can still pick up Claire’s scent and he heads for the Nomad encampment. Despite the scent blockers he knows are at work across the board, his nose leads him like a friggin’ compass and step by step guides him closer to both Claire and soon Cas. Once at the entrance of the encampment, he takes his time, because this is different from the bonfire. He adjusts his weapons so they are clearly visible and sheathed. He sees the Nomads within the camp notice him. None of them look familiar, which only goes to show how large their dispersed totals are. So he goes against his grain and walks in with his hands up, ensuring his scent is as calm as can be. He is on duty right now. Once he’s well within the boundary, he lowers his hands, but keeps them clearly visible.

Eileen’s jaw drops when she sees Dean and he beams at her, as he swaggers on. There is something else, a high frequency worry or mild distress, and it isn’t the kid’s. A touch of the hunt to this endeavor sends his senses purring in enthusiasm. Dean is sure this camp has a structure to it, but it is one he can’t yet discern. So he strolls through it, easily distracted by the little rituals and habits he sees around him. The way they dye their clothes in much brighter colors than the tribes. The variety in skin color among them. The scents. Oh, the scents from all over their lands and beyond. He recognises quite a few of them, memories in their wake, because he’s travelled far enough. It is still peculiar to scent them so close to The Bunker.

Castiel’s distress may have gone unnoticed, because Dean manages to get close to Cas’ tent before someone blocks his path. This finally gets a rise out of his wolf, because this woman with her pale, heart-shaped face and rosebud lips is an Alpha and nope, that won’t do _at all_. It takes him a few seconds to realize she’s one of the Embers Tribe. Meg? Meg. What is she doing here? He stomps down on his urge to knock her out and barge in, but allows enough of his core to seep through as he lifts his chin cockily.

“I’m here for Cas.” And he calls the bluff. “He seems upset.”

Her face ripples in annoyed surprise, but she recovers with ease. He never really got to know her as kids, so he wonders why she’s looking at him like he’s something stuck to the bottom of her boot. “Nothing they can’t handle, hotshot.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he weighs his options – knock her out, push her into the tent with him, all scenarios that will likely get him in Cas’ bad books and banned from the camp – and frustration spirals up angrily. She smiles sweetly, arms crossed, all relaxed muscles and confidence, because she _fucking knows_ , until Cas’ voice cuts through the heavy silence.

“Let him in, Meg.”

Instantly, his inner brat wolf does a happy dance, chasing its own tail, and for fuck’s sake, why is he so happy about something so simple? His chest puffs up with the sense of triumph. Small victories. He allows the wolf his moment.

“I’ll handle this problem myself,” Cas adds, taking some of the wind out of his sails. 

Dean huffs when Meg opens the tent flap with a peal of mocking laughter. “Good luck, Alpha.”

When the tent falls shut behind him, he holds still for a few moments, adjusting to the dark with ease, but holy hell, if Cas’ scent doesn’t overwhelm him. The room settles into focus easily enough and he gapes. With a soft curious huff, Dean reaches out to the feathers dangling from the strings above his head, spun like a web between all sides of the tent canvas. The beads and shells he touches clink delicately, his insides humming along to their frequency. Some of the species look familiar, plucked straight from their beach. Dean’s eyes skim the surroundings further, finding books. A surprisingly heavy possession to be attached to for a nomad. He wants to look closer, read the titles and which language they’re written in. His wolf whines softly.

Everything is steeped in Cas. He opens his mouth, panting lightly, allowing it, _him_ , to flood his senses, as he looks around and spots the nest in the middle of the tent. It takes a lot not to follow the lure of his singing heart and adjust the nest, make it better, mark it, scent it… 

_Down, boy_ , he admonishes his wolf. His rut is nowhere near imminent.

Cas is sitting amidst his sheets in the middle of the bed. Dean slowly walks over. If he hoped Cas would stay in the nest, he finds he is wrong… With a gruff sigh, Castiel gets up and Dean comes to a halt, his breathing caught on the shallow side of nervous, when trying to control the input. As it is, he tastes the pain his eyes take in. What he can see of Cas’ chest is scarred, pulling Dean’s protectiveness from his core like the moon working the oceans into its tides. He exhales long and slow, snatching his eyes from his chest to Cas’ face. Worse. Well, gorgeous. But worse. 

Aware of Dean’s gaze, Castiel tugs at his shirt until it’s smoothed out.

His wolf walks circles and nudges him, physically pushing the boundary making Dean take a step closer, decidedly _not_ of his own volition. Castiel observes his every gesture, but shows no intention of moving, his face open, brow knit together. Before Dean can surrender to the wolf’s urge to scoop Cas up in his arms to lay him down and kiss every scar, which would be very much _not_ an on-duty thing to do, he alternates his breathing between nose and mouth, which doesn’t really help much but it is something to do as he tries to understand. And refocus. He came here for a reason.

The situation dawns on him. Whatever excuse he thought to have in Claire, she is nowhere to be seen. Her scent lingers, but that’s it. He wandered into the Nomad encampment without a clear reason and straight for Cas’ tent.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Dark eyebrows shoot up for a second and furrow once more, as Castiel crosses his arms in front of him, head tilted. “I am quite fine.”

“At The Gathering, you seemed upset.”

Whatever Dean hopes to read is denied him, as Castiel’s face once again goes blank like one of the ancient, broken statues on The Sacred Site. Perfect in its stillness. Unreadable. Stories tucked away in every line and sharp angle, but in a language he can’t read. Castiel turns his head as he walks to the small table next to his nest and grabs a spray bottle.

_Was he going to spritz Dean like a bad pup?_

Dean watches as he spritzes some on his wrists and neck, and the softest whimper falls between them. _Whose_ …? Cas’ deep voice draws him in and away from the question. His brain feels foggy, like he’s surrounded by a mist made of Castiel’s scent and he tries to process.

“I believe most of us are upset at the turn events are taking.”

“It looked like more.”

“Even if it is, Dean, I doubt it’s any of your business.”

Why does his name on his lips sound like it belongs there, like Cas is meant to speak it, even in exasperation? 

“Look, man, I know you don’t know me, but I only want to help. You’re clearly part of the reason Sam is doing so well and…”

“Don’t you all?” Castiel cuts him off.

Dean clicks his tongue at his assuaging approach being cut off. “You didn’t object to your girl Alpha’s help a second ago.”

“She’s not…” Castiel shoots Dean a challenging look. “She is in perfect control of herself.”

Dean narrows his eyes at that statement, because it doesn’t ring entirely true. “So am I.”

Castiel scoffs as if he knows better. “I don’t need help from you. You’re just following your biology. Omega in need, must save, must…”

Anger flares at the accusation and he hisses to prevent himself from snarling. 

“Really? You think I was following my damned biology when my brother and I stepped in, you just fucked off, and I didn’t chase you down? When I walked into this camp, hands up? When I’m right here, talking to you instead of…”

Castiel eyes flash with an emotion he can’t pinpoint. It isn’t anger. He bares his teeth at Dean, a dark cynicism bleeding through. “When you didn’t chase me… Instead of what? Shoving me into my nest, face down, ass up, so you can breed me?”

The air goes out of his lungs, his mouth suddenly dry, at the mental image presented. He tries to blink it away, so he can focus on the real Castiel in front of him. In an instant, he realizes Cas is taunting him to get a reaction. For the life of him, he doesn’t understand why. So he glares, through the haze, keeping a tight rein on his wolf. Something other than taunt registers. Hurt. Deep-seated pain. The wolf obeys with ease at sensing it, but feeds him anger in return.

“What happened to you? Who hurt you?”

The question is too blunt. With everything Castiel has shown him so far, there was no way for it not to be. For the first time perhaps since he’s met him, a genuine response breaks through Castiel’s exquisite marble expression. Castiel flinches and physically takes a step back. Dean can almost feel him shut him out even further.

“Whatever they’ve done to you,” he says, taking the gamble, “You see me doing any of it?” 

Arms crossed, Castiel holds his silence, but Dean sees the smallest shake of his head.

“Exactly my point.” He grits it out through clenched teeth, unsure what has him angriest.

“You want a treat? Or a reward fuck? Get out, Dean. I’m tired and I’m fine.”

His wolf howls as his instincts flail against the raw words. “ _Morrigan help me_ , Cas, you are maddeningly infuriating.”

“So I’ve been told. Get in line.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that. Neither does his wolf. Well, his wolf has suggestions, but they are so out of this world, he deems it wiser to ignore them.

“Why won’t you…” Dean doesn’t know how to finish that sentence and falters.

Castiel frowns, no doubt confused by what’s coming off Dean in this moment, and Dean sees a flame flicker to life in those beautiful sapphire blues. If only he was on the same page. He doubts he’s in the same book at this point. 

A sly smile spreads across Castiel’s lips, while he gives Dean that shoving hand gesture.

“Get. Out. Dean.”

Fuck it if he doesn’t want to obey the direct order. He doesn’t obey orders. Not in public. Not like this. But his wolf parks his ass, tongue lolling out to the side, utterly unhelpful… and holding Cas’ gaze, Dean steps backwards, reaches behind. In a heartbeat, he finds himself back outside, the light of the sun so bright, its heat cooler on his skin than the air in the tent. His head is spinning and he has no fucking clue _what just happened_. 

Castiel’s voice drifts over to him from inside the tent’s safety.

“And I’d thank you kindly not to scent Claire again.”

His response is fueled by instinct and indignation. “Tell her that.”

When his system comes back online, he finds, in front of him, Sam, bitch-face in full effect.

“Hiya, Sammy!” he says brighter than he feels.

“What are you doing, Dean? You know you are not allowed here unless you have good cause. I mean, you’re welcome to sleep over with fair warning, but…”

“I know, I know. Unsupervised cub, Sam. I mean, Claire.” Sam’s face tells him something he can’t quite put together and reeling from Cas overload, he thumbs over his shoulder at the tent. “And dude’s upset. That’s good cause.” 

Sam frowns, a hint of scrutiny in that clever face and Dean looks away.

“You just… followed a cub in here like a stray and ended up in Cas’ tent?”

That hurts. Because he kinda is. Packless. “Not a stray, Sammy.” 

“Sam. Sammy is the chubby little cub that lived in The Bunker and kept bursting out of his clothes.” Sam looks around and grunts. “And of course everyone let you walk through because you’re Alpha, you’re Fort security, you slept here last night and you’re the eldest Winchester. With Elysium in the mix… they think you have the right. _Cern’s Antlers_ , Dean.”

“I fully behaved last night too. Stop making it sound like I’m part of the problem. And no, they didn’t. This really cocky Alpha lady blocked my way. Ember tribe.”

Sam smiles. “Meg.”

“Glad her reputation precedes her. But she has no business here either.”

“Let’s get you away from Cas already. You reek, man.”

“Only if you tell me more about him.”

“What are we, seven? Walk with me, I’ll tell you what I feel comfortable sharing. It ain’t much.”

“Where is he from?” 

Sam shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “No idea, as is the case for most of us. We all bailed on something, save for a few original wanderers. People like us avoid specifics.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know specifics in case one is a pervert or a killer or…?”

“Those we weed out with ease,” Sam says, jaw clenching. “Plenty of Omegas to trigger something that’s off.”

Dean swallows, uncomfortable at the thought. “But the stories of why you all left are similar, I take it?”

“For the most part, I assume so, yes. Abuse, forced mating, endless breeding, idealism…” A wry smile forms. “I guess we all have that one in common. Though for many desperation is the driving force. Until they start to realise they can settle in… think about relaxing.”

Dean winces. His current life is in that weird limbo state, where he gets confronted with that side of society on the regular as he moves across the lands, fixing what he can and at the same time be completely free of it. No one tells him who to mate. Which rules to play by. His ruts rank high on the shittiest part of his solitary life list. He’s mostly sat them out on his own, which are not the best memories, but it beats the alternative. He gave in to a willing Omega a few times… but it still leaves a sour taste, when he remembers why Sam left The Bunker. Idealistic little shit.

Dean glances back at Cas’ tent and looks at Sam expectantly. He doesn’t want to flat-out ask, but Sam knows.

“I have no idea about Cas,” he sighs. “He joined recently with Claire in tow. People defer to him for a lot of things and… I don’t know.”

“What is he?”

“Really, Dean? You’d ask me that? Here?”

Dean’s jaw clenches painfully and his wolf howls in frustration. Why does he care? Why does he want to go back and scent him? Come to think of it, why can he still smell Cas from here?

“Why do you care?” Sam echoes his thoughts eerily. 

“I don’t know, Sam. It’s…” He runs his tongue over his teeth, gripping his hands around his belt as they walk. “I can sense how upset he is… From afar. I can taste his pain. I dunno, I guess I just wanna make it better. It’s all I’ve done the past few years, so I don’t see why I should get shit for it.”

Sam studies him with intent for a few uncomfortable moments. Dean can tell he wants to say something, but decides on something else instead. “We are all upset about what’s going on. I don’t see you chasing anyone else to their tent to ‘make it better’? Or into The Gathering for that matter.”

Dean balks at the implication and punches Sam in the shoulder to make a moot point. Sam doesn’t play along, which is a testament to how far down they’ve gone. 

“Get back to your duties, Dean. We got the camp handled.”

His hackles raise and he wants to scuffle with his brother, missing how it used to be, but Sam turns away before he can. Dean sees Claire climbing a stack of wooden beams and she waves at him. Giving a soft huff, he returns the gesture and does as he’s told, adding the implied accusations to the bunch.

He decides to take a stroll through the stalls and put his ear to the ground to get a feel for what’s at play after Elysium’s arrival.


	6. Turn My Storm To Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He passes through the Wanderer encampment to get Hugin out of the tent, clipping the crow from his perch to his leather cuff. In the light of the one candle he lights, he scribbles a note in shorthand. Or tries to, as he has trouble figuring out what to say.
> 
> “What do I tell him, Hugin?” he mutters softly. Hugin tilts his head at him, one beady eye flicking about in its socket alertly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fond of all the art, obviously, but for some reason, this visual stuck with me the moment she created it. I wanna roll around in it. I want to be there. Sort of. Would be odd. But y'know what I mean. But these soft visuals make me happy...

Sitting on his own by the Wanderers’ campfire, Dean takes in his company, keeping his mind quiet by observing their turmoil. Nothing distracts from inner turmoil better than other people’s issues. Sam and Eileen are sitting so close together it is hard to tell where one starts and the other ends. Bobby and Karen are doing the rounds of the camp. Since Elysium’s arrival, they set up a full-time roster working with the other Wanderers. In pairs. No one walks alone. The cubs are kept close. Dean wrinkles his nose. Blockers cannot keep this amount of confusion and fear at bay, forcing him to breathe shallow. He isn’t the only one.

Side-lining himself in a way similar to Dean, Castiel sits in the second row, outside the immediate glare of the flames. Claire is curled up against his chest. Gadreel and Kevin are by his side, the latter talking the former’s ear off by the looks of it. Castiel’s eyes, hooded in the shadows, are stuck on the flames. Dean wonders if he’s listening to the people around them as well. This isn’t just a regular shifter, Dean thinks, not for the first time, but he cannot put his finger on it. Which is exactly how Castiel likes it, he senses.

Dean sits and listens, letting the emotions which are sparking off of everyone into his personal space. He allows the intensity of them in, like the heat of flames too close to his skin. They’re shards of emotions at best, because the Nomads are sitting in scattered, small groups. He sensed a similar overall vibe on the air when he walked through the festival earlier. Tight-wound words, coiled like sand snakes, ready to lash out. Some carry the poison of a scorpion’s stinger, others the stink of a scared deer. The chasm between the two only seems to grow, a wide gaping toothy maw that might swallow them whole, if they aren’t careful.

Gaze going a thousand yards, Castiel blurring to a mesh of colors and impression, Dean perks his ears.

“What if they came to renegotiate the terms? Suppose they stop the trade, what else do they have to gain from us?”

“Omegas, clearly.”

“Were there even terms? The land is ours and they shouldn’t be here. They didn’t even send a messenger ahead to announce their arrival!”

“It used to be theirs. I hear it was a sacred site for them.”

“Really? Which part?”

“The cavern… The one past the veil.”

A round of interested ‘oohs’ and derisive snorts within that little group. Dean knows the stories. He likes to think he spent enough time belowground and never found anything remotely sacred. No Devil either. Other creatures, yes, which may belong in some kind of hell, but never the devil himself.

“Who fucking cares! You can’t renegotiate terms twenty years later.”

“You can if the trade routes are still open. You think you’d be eating your favorite, and by the way ridiculously expensive, fancy fruit if it wasn’t for those? We don’t grow any of that.”

They weren’t wrong about the prices for Elysian goods. Another sliver of conversation catches Dean’s attention. His vision comes back into focus, as his eyes skip over Castiel and Claire. For the briefest moment they hold onto each other and Dean is slow to look away.

“My mom told me they keep their Omegas and Betas locked up.”

“I heard they control them!”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. My uncle told me they used witches. You know… Like the Oracle.”

“Oracle Rowena isn’t one of them. She helped us conceive. She is a friend to all of us.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“Oh, hush. This is no joke. There’s a difference between oracles, mages and witches.”

“Not to me…”

“She was there during the first war.”

“Who?”

“The Oracle. She lost someone, like her kid or something?”

“Ridiculous. If she had, why would she be presiding over The Gathering? She has the power to kill them all.”

Dismissing the last claim as idiocy, he registers the valid question as such. Dean muses and files the information away.

“I’m worried shifters will start disappearing again… The last village we passed had a missing Beta.”

“Where was this?” he asks.

Because the subject catches his attention and he’s not the only one. It’s subtle, the way Castiel cocks his head to the side and his gaze goes from glassy to hyper-focused in the blink of an eye.

The threesome he interrupts eyes him with suspicion. Dean lifts the hand he’s got encircled at the wrist with the other. “Sorry to intrude like that. Dean Winchester. Eldest of the Hunter tribe. If shifters are disappearing in our lands, it pays to share the intel.”

The youngest of them almost spits out the words. “Only if your father doesn’t prove to be a massive dick.”

“Becky!”

Dean grimaces and tries to keep his feelings about his father out of his scent. “He can be a bit of a dick, trust me, but not the way you’re implying. He tries.”

“Not hard enough,” Becky says. “If he gets re-elected, will he bend the knee? Or will he give us what we need?”

Dean has no truthful answer for that. At this point in time, he honestly has no clue which way his father will swing. Or if he will even get elected.

“Alpha Winchester?” Becky’s… brother… friend?

Dean shakes his head several times over, scowling at the way he is addressed. “Oh, no, nonono, don’t call me that. Alpha Winchester, if anyone, is my dad. I don’t hold by the title. Or any title,” he adds.

“We know, dear.” The older woman. Mother, by the sounds and, subtly, scent on her. “Home isn’t necessarily a place, is it?”

Which hits too intensely close to the proverbial and very ironic home, Dean balks in silence. His scalp tingles with the intensity of what’s firing in his brain and a cold feeling trickles down his spine.

“It isn’t,” he says, voice tight, and he looks at the younger shifter. “And I honestly don’t know the answer to that, Becky. I’d like to think he won’t bend the knee, but I know he remembers the war… more vividly than shifters our age. And he’ll do anything to avoid a new one.”

“But the one decision doesn’t need to halt the other in its tracks, does it?”

He agrees. So much so it hurts and still he doesn’t want to say it out loud. The last thing his father needs is dissent in his own ranks, even if these are Wanderers. Nomads, by choice or necessity. Potentially something else he can’t figure out yet. From the corner of his eye, he catches movement. He’s been catching it all night, but this one is different. Because it’s Castiel. Leaving. Again.

He hands Claire to Kevin, who wraps his arms around the girl tenderly. She flops on his chest the way only sleeping cubs can and Dean’s pretty sure he can see her drooling. Castiel walks away from the bonfire, Dean trying his best not to keep an eye on where he’s going. Because it’s none of his business.

But his gaze is drawn like a moth to a flame, as he watches Castiel vanish between the tents closest to the ocean, away from the festival, the noise, the conversation. When he hears the waves rolling onto the beach, a melancholy memory tugs at him, one of another time. A life on the other side of that ocean. Similar in many ways, but vastly different. He sighs when the visual of Benny returns to him. Not in the gloomy sense, but in the suddenly deeply indebted sense.

Dean sneaks away from the fire, in need of a quiet moment to think. The seed was planted in his head, pretty much since the second Elysium marched in on The Gathering. To expect anything but trouble from this would be foolish and despite what his father seems to think of him, Dean likes to think he is no fool.

He passes through the Wanderer encampment to get Hugin out of the tent, clipping the crow from his perch to his leather cuff. In the light of the one candle he lights, he scribbles a note in shorthand. Or tries to, as he has trouble figuring out what to say.

“What do I tell him, Hugin?” he mutters softly. Hugin tilts his head at him, one beady eye flicking about in its socket alertly.

He doesn’t want to ask Benny to get involved, but he needs him to know. When he shared the story of his homeland, he and Benny looked at one another, painfully aware that if Elysium got a foothold in Tribal lands once more, Benny’s pack would be at risk as well. The Elysians are no sedentary people. They are conquerors. They will cross the seas.

The only reason the truce holds to this day are the many trade deals and the wars waging on Elysium’s other borders. Old feuds that kicked up dust in the wake of their conflict with The Tribes. For all their intents to try and recover, it seems Elysium was unable to remain idle for long. Or constructive. 

He tries to understand the motivations at play, but his mind works differently than theirs. Simpler, he supposes. It is strange, because Dean knows the Tribes fight a lot. They bicker and struggle. Over land and principles. Over gods and love. Over rights and lifestyles. But when faced with an outside threat, they usually hold one line. They never wiped out entire generations, like the war had. Dean wonders if they’ll hold the line as one this time around and the answer scares him. It prods him into writing.

He settles on sharing the truth. Factual information, so Benny has due warning and can make up his own mind. When he is done tying the little leather container to Hugin’s thin leg, he licks his thumb and index, squishing out the flame with a wet hiss. 

Outside, he glances to the fire, where music is paving the way for a lighter mood. Until he registers the Devil Below lullaby. It is much older than the war, but tied to it inexorably. The one about the monster snatching shifter cubs down into the caves of hell. He glares at the light, wondering whose bright idea that was. But although it sounds shaky, they’re uniting in the song. And sometimes that’s all it takes to fight the threatening dark.

Stealthily, he moves across the camp towards the ocean, Hugin silently climbing up his arm to settle on his shoulder. Dean hands him a small sliver of jerky from one of his pouches. He steps out from the patch of forest onto the sand, resolving to take off his boots once Hugin is on his way. His heart clenches at the thought, as he coos at his bird. The thought of losing Hugin… Dean swallows through a mist of tears, cursing at himself for all the good it does him. 

They are trained to perfection, both of them, but to send his pet across the seas and risk never seeing him again, all because of the fucked up situation they got themselves in… it just isn’t right. His thoughts skip to Baby. She’s been in many a conflict with him, but never anything on the scale they will be facing if things with Elysium go pear-shaped.

“You shouldn’t need to risk your feathers for our stupidity,” he mutters.

Dean squats down into the sand, the waves lapping at his boots. Suddenly his heart is hammering. He double-checks the canister is tied securely. Hugin gratefully takes another sliver of jerky and Dean sits with him on his arm for a good while, staring out across the inky waves. A bright moon shines above, which is good. It will help Hugin on his trip.

“Be careful, you little bag of feathers,” he says fondly. “Munin wants you back in one piece and so do I.”

Hugin caws at him and nibbles his finger, as Dean unclips him. He watches the black of his feathers blend with the night in a wink and bows his head, folding both hands across the back of it. A low, frustrated sigh forces its way out, giving what little voice he can to the outside world. To the night. He wants to howl. Shift into his wolf form and thunder through the forest. Hunt. Simpler things than this. Morrigan knows there’s plenty to hunt out there, within a day's ride's reach. He could just go tear out some rabid shifter throats, find him a nest of bloodsuckers or cave dwellers. He digs his hands into the sand in search of a grounding texture.

He hears the footsteps too late. They’re much too close for comfort, which is no less than he deserves for letting his guard down. The voice, however, stops him from reacting on instinct.

“What are you doing?”

Dean jerks upright stepping back from the water, turning on his heels and finds himself face to face with Castiel. Castiel, who seems to have forgotten what personal space is. Or maybe Dean closed that gap. In any case, it’s too much so close on the heel of what he’s feeling.

“How is it any of your business?”

“I saw you talking to the Elysian soldiers today.”

“Merchant, in fact, but yes,” Dean corrects him.

There is a laden silence, during which Castiel stares out across the waves, the angles of his expression so sharp they could slice through rock.

“Why?” he asks, looking at Dean directly.

Dean chuckles, against better judgement. “I sense a circular joke coming on.”

“You think this is a joke?”

Dean feels he’s taken enough of Castiel’s moods. Mainly because he seems to be the only one on the receiving end of them. “No, I don’t, Cas. In fact I think I’m one of the people most acutely aware of what it’s like out there. And somehow so are you. So why don’t you tell me why the arrival of Elysium has you in a thousand knots all at once?”

Castiel disregards the question. “Who did you just contact?”

Dean ignores him in turn, staring out across the ocean. He doesn’t want to talk about Benny or why he is contacting him. It isn’t necessarily that he doesn’t want to trust Castiel, though that might not be extremely smart. He feels he wants to trust him, for no other reason than gut instinct. But the way Castiel behaves towards him makes it a moot point. Dean can think he trusts Castiel. As long as Cas doesn’t trust him, it won’t matter. His thoughts skip to her.

“I didn’t scent y… Claire.”

“So you implied.”

Dean grimaces and glares. “Yeah, see, I feel I need to reiterate it, because you don’t seem to believe me a whole lot.”

His tone is on the sulky side of upset, which is – surely - a valid feeling, because it is not in his nature to cross those boundaries and he doesn’t need Castiel thinking otherwise. Even if he walked into his tent randomly. For his part, Castiel looks offended at that reproach, though what Dean said is true. His gaze follows a pair of tiny bats flitting through the air above them before they blip out of sight into the trees.

“Why does it matter so much whether I do or don’t?”

Dean frowns. A loaded question, because not by any stretch of the imagination _should_ he care either way. But the pain he’s seen in the marks on Castiel’s body, and swears he felt in his bones, demand something from him. Something stronger than anything he’s felt before in his life. Perhaps the time for wandering and waiting and hoping for change is over. Perhaps assuaging his restlessness by wandering alone has run its course.

He doesn’t know who or what Cas is running from exactly, though he is freaked by Elysium. Who isn’t? Wanderers by definition ran away from someone. Weren’t cared for the way they deserved. Weren’t safe. Except by their numbers in their make-shift pack, their nomadic existence and the balance John held within the Tribes.

And Claire is Castiel’s, even though Dean isn’t going to admit to knowing that out loud. In fact, he hasn’t heard anyone refer to her as Cas’ daughter so far. He exhales slowly, rubbing sand off his fingers. He speaks without looking at him. He can’t say everything that he wants to, partly because he can’t find words for some of the things he’s feeling, but he can skate close enough to part of the truth.

“Because it seems important to you that people don’t randomly go around scenting you. I imagine the sentiment extends to her.”

He wants to add why he scented Castiel the first time around, but thinks better of it. There is no way of explaining his motivations without slipping into anything that won’t sound like a sad excuse. Castiel purses his lips, his eyebrows shooting up in silent acknowledgement. His eyes seek Dean’s face, though what he is looking for Dean can’t say. It is gentle in its seeking, like a caress almost. Castiel’s eyes shine, darkened and dappled with silver, much like the ocean.

“It’s the sound,” Dean says.

Castiel blinks rapidly, then squints in confusion, his forehead remaining soft. “What?”

Dean shrugs towards The Gathering. “I’m not used to this many people and the sound that creates. Not anymore. The waves drown it out. I’ve missed her, the ocean.”

Confused, Dean widens his eyes, following the ebb and flow of the water. This. All of this. Why is he telling Castiel? And then his heart gives a fragile stutter when Castiel speaks.

“For me it’s the stars. I wish I could reach out and touch them, though I’ve heard they’d burn me to a crisp if I got near them. Still, whenever I look up, for a while, I am elsewhere. Where it’s quiet.”

The depth in this man’s voice amazes Dean. When he isn’t on edge or upholding his walls, the timbre is emotive, deep and full, like he is painting the world with his voice. That and the fact that he engages Dean in this conversation, like their first exchange never even happened. Dean has no illusions about those walls still being up, but it feels like they’re talking through it, backs towards each other on either side. He looks at him. Finds his profile outlined by the light of the moon. A pale touch of her softening the hard edges that seem to define him. Castiel sighs, lips parting as his jaw relaxes, and his shoulders roll backwards subtly.

“Sometimes it is like they move,” Cas whispers. “I know they don’t, unless you travel far enough. But sometimes it’s like they dance like bees, if I stare at them long enough.”

The mention of bees solidifies a scent he’s been picking up around Castiel with a spark. Honey. And with the identification, it invades him. Piney herbs, rosemary and thyme, steeped in warm, fresh honey sends his head swimming, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Dean lets his mouth fall slack and focuses on the brine harder.

“How far have you been?”

“Not far enough and too far.”

He wants to snort at the words, his gut response reading them as a deflection, but there’s a lilt to Castiel’s voice that stops him. On good days, when the sun is bright and the air is clear as he rides Baby through a place that feels safer, lighter than some others, Dean feels hope. They are wistful moments, much like the one he’s in now, balancing on a sharp edge he can’t quite define, because they never last very long, but he feels Castiel understands them. Which is a ridiculous notion in and of itself, because there is little to nothing that gives him the proof of validity for that sentiment. Except an insistent feeling. The same feeling that has him teetering in this moment with Castiel and somehow, he hopes, some sliver of it might be mutual? So he gives more.

“I miss the quiet, but I sometimes wonder if it ever really is,” Dean says.

Dean wonders what brought him standing so close to Castiel. His wolf twirls a circle and sits down, breathing deep, and Dean does the latter too. He isn’t scenting, because he knows better than to try. For now. Castiel shifts his weight to his left foot, seemingly angling towards Dean. His brow is furrowed, as he casts a careful glance at Dean.

When he speaks, his speech is slower. “How… do you mean?”

“Even when it’s silent, it never really is, right?”

“Ahh,” Castiel hums. 

The gentleness in his tone suggests he may understand. And for the years he has on Dean and the proof on his skin of another life, he probably does. Dean clears his throat gently, giving a nod, though he isn’t sure at what. His mouth feels dry and the night air is a lot warmer than it ought to be. 

There is a cooling breeze coming in from the ocean and he can hear it tease the leaves on the trees. Castiel’s hair suffers its effects, the blue shine softened by the moonlight. The way he stands before Dean, bare feet in the sand, having shed most of his layers, the moment seems to take years off of him.

They react in sync to the howls that emerge faintly from beyond the patch of trees that separates them from The Gathering. Dean closes his eyes as soon as he hears Sam and surrenders to the howl, loud and clear, the second he hears Sam’s timbre, Eileen’s close on his heels. Bobby’s gruffer howl blends beautifully with the deep one he presumes is Karen. The cubs follow suit and he senses it when Castiel picks out Claire. He experiences a full body shiver when Castiel’s howl harmonizes with his, replying to her. Dean’s voice trembles for a split second. He wants to feel Castiel lean in at that, but can’t be sure. Instead he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, breathing in deeper and working his core as they give into another howl. Slowly it gets picked up across the gathering, down in the massive tent camps housing all visiting shifters, all the way into the tribal territories. When they open their eyes, the moment tilts into something vulnerable, but Dean doesn’t flinch from the heat. He holds Castiel’s gaze. 

He doesn’t know which of them sways. Perhaps it’s both of them. The waves sound louder in his ears, though for the rhythm that pulses through him, Dean thinks it might be his heart. His vision sharpens as his pupils are blown wide. Castiel’s mirror his own and his heart wrenches painfully at the sight, wondering if he’s imagining it. He exhales roughly, which naturally brings an inhale in its wake and just like that he’s on fire. His brain lights up so brightly his vision whites out momentarily, like he’s looking directly into the sun. And then the intensity of Castiel’s scent invades his senses, taste and olfactory alike, as its effects travel his spine like unforgiving flames, locking muscles in place.

Dean’s taller than him or he thought he was, when he sees Castiel swamp his entire vision. Watches his nostrils flare. His mind has to be playing tricks on him, Dean thinks. Surely it is his own reflection he sees in those eyes, pupils blown wide and glinting red? The snarl that rings in his ears has to be his own and Dean reaches within to get a grip on his wolf, but he finds they are aligned. They are as one.

Which means… The realization flickers to life and is blown to bits when Castiel bends closer and pushes his nose into the sensitive area around his mating gland. No direct contact, which would have buckled his knees out from under him, but all the same he grabs onto Castiel’s waist. His warmth seeps through to his sensitive fingertips. Dean wants nothing more than to slip his hands under the fabric. The sound that is pulled from him is remote almost, the way uncharted lands sounded when he first entered them. New, overwhelming, intoxicating.

Convention makes way for instinct, as Dean and his wolf move in unison and he dips into Castiel’s neck. Emotions give voice themselves as impressions on his skin, a burning heated hand on his shoulder and flashes of lights against his eyelids, spanning the full range of colours the skies have to offer. His core heats up hotter than he’s ever experienced during his ruts. He senses he’s about to keel over the edge.

Staring at the fire, Castiel tries to hold the balance in his head. He needs to. Whatever window he thought he might have had, it’s gone and he’s as wrapped up in this reality as the rest of them. To wait it out. Which feels so much like the way it once was, it’s numbing him to his core.

The paralysis. He remembers it vividly as he gazes into the flames, while Claire sleeps on his chest and shifters around him talk as if they have the slightest clue of what Elysium is capable of. Which does him exactly no favours in terms of thinking any of this through. Even Claire’s scent doesn’t ease his mind. The flames replay sordid memories, burning into his retinas. He tries not to project them on his current company.

Until Dean’s voice yanks him back to the present. Castiel watches the exchange between him and the family of shifters. Even without trying very hard, he sees the pain in his face when they touch upon the lack of a home and how Dean fails to answer the girl’s question. Both of which elicit an emotional response, that spurs him into handing Claire to Kevin. He needs to focus and figure something out. 

He wanders away from their encampment, touching the various tents he passes. So many of them are strangers to them, if not for the fact they are all Nomads. Sufficient common ground to feel their canvas homes tug at his heart strings in the way they stand forlorn in the dark of night. Every night they are out there, wandering, lost but never found, waiting. For what? Someone to catch up to them. Someone to set fire to them. Someone to invite them in. Someone to give them space.

Castiel scratches a hand through his hair, tugs at it in frustration, hard enough for his scalp to sting. He wanders further, stepping under the trees. He wants to run lost deep in the forest. Perhaps there are places to hide, if they travel far enough, beyond the edges of the map. Maybe he can convince… The idea crumbles to dust like brittle bird bones under the pressure of even the slightest further analysis. 

He listens for the sounds of night. The quiet outside to compensate for the noise within. His feet barely make any noise as he walks aimlessly, the sound of the waves gathering him in like a man in a dream. It’s deceptive, the calm of the ocean. He knows she can unleash storms unlike any other. Castiel looks out across the beach, searching for something he can’t name, his gaze drawn to the stars. He sighs at them, wondering if he can make a wish, even when none are falling. The last time he did that, it didn’t quite pan out. He shakes his head and steps forward, out of the memory’s grasp.

He halts in his tracks when he sees a shifter, squatting down in the surf. The moon does him the dubious favour of providing enough light for a wave-like gut response to course through him. Castiel lets out an exhale, which he wants to be annoyed, but it might be something else. Dean seems to be talking to himself, words Castiel can’t make out over the sound of the water. He chews his bottom lip, torn between curiosity and ambiguity. Then he sees the bird. Without explicit consent, his feet carry him closer, padding quietly across the sand and he catches the last of the words Dean’s muttering at the bird. His voice sounds soft and painfully thick with worry, as he releases the cawing animal.

“Be careful, you little bag of feathers,” he says fondly. “Munin wants you back in one piece and so do I.”

Castiel catches sight of the canister tied to its leg as it vanishes into the night. His heart freezes over. He looks to Dean, mind racing by leaps and bounds, and watches Dean curl in on himself, hands clasped to the back of his head. He doesn’t know how to read this. Is it guilt? Desperation? The sound Dean makes pulls Castiel closer still, as if he has no control over it. He recoils at the strength behind it. The words are out before he can give their wisdom much thought.

“What are you doing?”

Dean is on his feet and in his face in an instant. Castiel’s muscles refuse to cooperate. Or obey, as he moves closer. He can’t fucking tell for sure. His inner workings are too on edge to be near Dean. He knows this. With a surprising clarity, even though it feels like the waves around him are rising.

“How is it any of your business?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. The suspicion he feels is at war with… everything else he feels when he’s around Dean, all the things he’d rather not try to name. “I saw you talking to the Elysian soldiers today.”

Dean corrects him. Of course, he does. The pup wants to be taught, a darker part suggests. “Merchant, in fact, but yes.”

The challenge in those silver-speckled eyes is too alluring, so Castiel looks away to the ocean. He can hear his teeth snapping together as he swallows his words, or perhaps something worse, and holds the silence. For a moment. He looks straight at Dean, wanting to read his face when he asks.

“Why?”

The eyebrows curve up delicately in unison. There’s a touch of sarcasm to his tone. “I sense a circular joke coming on.”

Castiel tucks his chin, glaring at Dean. “You think this is a joke?”

If he hopes to intimidate Dean somehow, it doesn’t work. If anything, it seems to make it worse. But he hasn’t tried to cow anyone into anything in years. Nor, he thinks, does he truly want to intimidate Dean. It is a different matter. At least he hopes it is.

“No, I don’t, Cas. In fact I think I’m one of the people most acutely aware of what it’s like out there. And somehow so are you. So why don’t you tell me why the arrival of Elysium has you in a thousand knots all at once?”

“Who did you just contact?”

With a grin and a snort, Dean repays him the favor of ignoring his question, which should drive him up the wall. But the way the younger shifter glances at the ocean in contemplation makes Castiel want to follow him, wherever his mind is going. Why doesn’t he openly engage Castiel on a matter they are both clearly occupied with. Why he sent off one of his crows. Why he never sided with the Nomads.

“I didn’t scent y… Claire.”

… Claire. Castiel suffers severe whiplash at the switch in subject. He mouths at the air in silence, which Dean thankfully can’t see, as he processes it. He manages an even-keeled answer, trying to connect the dots Dean is following and failing. “So you implied.”

Why does that earn him another round of annoyance on those moonlight-softened features? 

“Yeah, see, I feel I need to reiterate it, because you don’t seem to believe me a whole lot.” 

His tone as much an accusation as the way he looks at Castiel, jaw clenching, before looking away to something flying overhead.

“What does it matter so much whether I do or don’t?”

Dean frowns and holds a silence during which Castiel can watch thoughts running through his head. He can’t read Dean, because he doesn’t know him well enough. Yet with his next words, it’s like Dean opens his chest and lays his heart bare. 

“Because it seems important to you that people don’t randomly go around scenting you. I imagine the sentiment extends to her.”

He isn’t sure what his expression is doing in the face of that. Dean’s right. Not that Castiel hasn’t been feeding him those clues from the second they met, but there’s something in the flavor of his voice and his body language that makes it more than just an echo of Castiel’s unsubtle rebukes. Something softer and quite mystifying, if he hadn’t been around the block. He has an inkling what it is. The confusing part lies in why he’s not walking away. From what shimmers beneath the surface of the deep and darkened water which seems to be Dean’s natural element.

There’s a brief moment where he remembers dreaming of an easy connection like this, but that was before he changed.

“It’s the sound,” Dean says.

This has him fluttering his lashes and he squints at Dean, curiosity winning out over caution. “What?”

Castiel reads his body, the way he tilts his shoulder towards the other side of the trees, where the bonfire is, wondering how much Dean can convey with it. “I’m not used to this many people and the sound that creates. Not anymore. The waves drown it out. I’ve missed her, the ocean.”

Castiel keeps a tight rein on his physical tells or he likes to think he does. Something warm swirls in his insides, like he’s up to his waist in a hot water spring, the simple pleasure of it begging him to wade deeper. Dean seems as surprised as him when Castiel replies.

“For me it’s the stars. I wish I could reach out and touch them, though I’ve heard they’d burn me to a crisp if I got near them. Still, whenever I look up, for a while, I am elsewhere. Where it’s quiet.”

Castiel exhales slowly, willing the effect he’s describing into his body. The muscles between his shoulders strain under the process. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Sometimes it is like they move. I know they don’t, unless you travel far enough. But sometimes it’s like they dance like bees, if I stare at them long enough.”

“How far have you been?”

“Not far enough and too far.”

Dean seems to give that answer serious thought. Castiel smiles inwardly at the sincere responses he keeps getting from him. His answer is one of those poetic absurd things to say when you feel at once too far removed from reality and buried six feet under. For all his Alpha bluster, a genuine aspect of Dean bleeds through in everything he does and says. Some of that attitude has to be real, Castiel thinks, some part of Dean has to be all Alpha. Like all others. He needs him to be. Because if he isn’t…

“I miss the quiet, but I sometimes wonder if it ever really is,” Dean says.

He catches Dean breathing in. The difference with scenting is subtle and the kindness in that simple distinction has Castiel tilting into the warmth of Dean. It is and isn’t conscious. He knows he’s doing it, but the instigator lies within. Dormant. Or so he thought. Like looking through a milky piece of glass, he takes in Dean’s face, feeling his heart beating slower. More at ease.

“How… do you mean?”

“Even when it’s silent, it never really is, right?”

Castiel hums reflexively, flavoring the sentiment on the air. What little Sam has told him of how they grew up, him and Dean, he never reveals himself as what Castiel expects. He does the exact same thing Castiel does to everyone who dares treat him as a traditional Omega. Oh, he can taste the Alpha temper on him, but there’s an undercurrent to Dean’s disposition that offsets it. Counterbalances it.

His age betrays him in his discomfort in a prolonged silence, as Dean scrapes his throat. Castiel smiles, turning his face towards the gentle wind blowing in from across the waves, but is immediately pulled from it when he hears the howls. Next to him, Dean shifts in unison with him. It is a barely there sound, for now.

Castiel’s eyes widen as Dean bares his throat, head falling back. His eyes flutter shut, thick lashes dark against his freckled skin, and he howls in reply. For blessed moments, Castiel gets to _see him_. When Dean’s scent hits, he gulps in a mouthful of air and holds it, locking it in his lungs. His mind supplies hints of its subtleties. The smell of the earth after rain. There’s a rich, sweet undercurrent of fresh leather to him and… chocolate. The darkest kind, bitter and strong that clings to the back of your tongue. 

Goosebumps break out across his skin and he trembles, swaying on his feet like he’s at the edge of the cliffs and about to go over. The flavor of Dean fits everything about him and swirls around Castiel like a tangible caress of warm water.

When he hears the frail howl of his daughter through all the other voices, Castiel surrenders to the moment. He shudders at how his timbre melts with Dean’s perfectly. A soft tremble in Dean’s voice makes Castiel lean in closer. They howl and listen. Listen how it gets picked over the expanse of the gathering. Castiel opens his eyes first, watches the way Dean licks his lips before he finds Castiel’s gaze and holds it. Fearless with a generous hint of ‘come closer’. He hates to use the word vulnerable, because that implies Castiel can hurt him… Something stirs in the deep, reaches out.

From one thudding heartbeat to the next, Castiel is submerged. In Dean’s sea green eyes. The water closes above him. A calm unlike any other he’s sensed in his life washes over him. Sweeps him off his feet, almost, if it wasn’t for a stubborn part of himself digging its heels in. Barely. Not for the sake of denial. Self-preservation. There is a clash of two dissenting fragments groping around for purchase in this foreign element. Castiel is used to burning. White hot flames. Pain. He knows how to handle those.

He feels the world tilt on its axis and knows when he’s tilting with it. Into Dean. His eyes squeeze shut under the force of Dean’s scent, as he noses into his neck, breathing deep. Deeper than he has in a long, long time. A thrilled rumble builds in his chest. Along with the scent hits the flavor and he’s sure he’ll be tasting this on his tongue for days. He hopes. The sound this draws from Dean is wanton, irresistible in its audible powerlessness, his hands find purchase at Castiel’s hips. A flare of yearning bursts through the calm of his submergence, doused only by something Castiel can’t pinpoint.

When Dean leans in and he feels the pressure of his nose, the scrape of his scruff across his skin, Castiel reaches for him. Finds a hold on the meaty part of his shoulder and grips him tight. The waves sound louder in his ears. He feels Dean’s heartbeat under his lips, pounding in sync with his own. He senses the way his hands get a firmer hold on his waist. How he arches into Castiel.

Castiel’s eyes fly open, when he nips at Dean’s throat. He hears the snap of his own teeth and instantly reels backward, pushing Dean off him. Dean stumbles when he tries to chase their contact. Castiel isn’t sure which of them lets out the destitute whine.

“Dean, I… we can’t,” Castiel blurts out.

Which is already more than he should say out loud.

“Cas,” Dean says, his eyes glittering through the obvious haze. “Don’t…”

But he does. Castiel turns away from him and walks back towards the trees, hoping Dean won’t follow him.

It hurts when he doesn’t.

Regardless of what his body, his wolf, his soul, are telling him, Castiel shouldn’t engage Dean. The pup deserves better. He refuses to take part in that morbid dance once more, knowing where blind obedience to it has led others. With Elysium returned, there is no point in entertaining anything that resembles hope.


	7. Here I Go Against The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Azazel of the Chains Tribe.”
> 
> Crowley turns to his right hand. “I beg your bloody pardon?”
> 
> Azazel smiles slyly and gives a barely-there shrug, like he’s announced the grass is green and spring is coming. His timing is only off by a few thousand miles and has the effect of lightning striking in the middle of the table.
> 
> “Aww, come now, Crowley, don’t pretend you were unaware of the mishaps of late,” he drawls, “They have forced my hand to form a new pack. And I figured why not announce it at The Gathering before the vote. As is well within our rights.”

The group is smaller, this time around. Dean, with their father and Jody. 

Crowley, Ruby, Azazel and Alastair. The latter’s presence is unusual, but then so is Dean’s. His nose twitches in disgust, when Alastair winks at him lewdly. 

Bartholomew and April. 

Their people are privy to the conversations held at the white stone table, but not to this. The vote takes place in the ruling Alpha’s den, which plants Dean back in the familiar surroundings of The Bunker. Its fragrance is somewhat alienating, because it ought to smell like home but doesn’t. He looks around. There’s been a few changes since he left. He can smell Kate and Adam are now living here. His Grandmother’s fondness for sage and coriander hasn’t diminished one bit, which clearly irks Azazel.

He tries to stay present in the here and now. His wolf has other plans and feeds him last night’s memories. The amount of blocker he’s wearing ought to keep his inner turmoil right there. On the inside. Well… Turmoil. He’s not sure what to call the emotions that snap and crackle at the center of that memory. They’re warm, dangerously so, but not threatening, he thinks. For all his attitude, Dean believes he has nothing to fear from Cas. Last night at least confirmed there is something between them. But for the way Cas behaves around him, it feels like nothing happened and he may have dreamt it up. The gentle scruff-burn in his neck proves otherwise. The taste of him on his tongue too and he swallows.

He grimaces when Rowena clicks her nails on the table.

“Remind me,” he loud-whispers at Jody, “Why is she here again?”

He’s still fuming, but probably less so than Sam and Cas, at the fact that Rowena is present, but they were forbidden entry. Much like his mother and any other Omega or Beta who, by tradition, has no say over who will rule them for the next five years. So not only was she on the outside of the meeting at the Sacred Site, she is now banned from her own home. Dean never questioned that custom until now. If not for the tribes’ tendency towards conflict, he would wonder if all outcomes in the past have been honest.

Rowena gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Because, dear wee Dean, with Elysium in the fray, people are worried the due process this vote deserves might not be respected.”

Jody purses her lips, her eyebrows shooting up. “By people, you mean Elysium, right?”

“Don’t you ‘dear wee Dean’ me,” he snaps at the same time. 

Dean is sitting between Jody and his father. John, who turns towards him and Jody, dark eyes speaking volumes. He doesn’t even have to tell them what he’s thinking. Dean exchanges a look with Jody, who grimaces and they huff in unison as they settle into their seats. John is palpably irked at the effect Dean is having on Jody. When Jody catches April glaring at Dean, she leans closer.

“What did you do to April? She’s looking at you like she wants to skin you alive.”

“I have that effect on people. Some people anyway.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

The image of Charlie and Cas at The Fort materializes in his mind’s eye. “Nothing she didn’t deserve,” Dean adds.

Jody frowns, as she fiddles with the wooden pen in front of her. “Probably can’t argue with that either.”

It’s an informal affair. No speeches, obviously aside from whatever story Rowena will want to spill. Still, he can tell from the way everyone is shifting in their seats, some of them are sitting on their undoubtedly stellar opinions. The clay tablets are passed around.

“Those who put themselves forward as Alpha for their tribes, please state your names once more. Ruling Alpha.”

“John Winchester of the Hunter Tribe.”

“Contending Alphas.”

“Bartholomew of the Fallen Tribe.”

“Crowley of the Ember Tribe.”

Dean tugs his tablet forward. He wants to get this over with, see where they land so they can act. He wants to get out of The Bunker to Sam and Eileen. To Cas and Claire, which is a misguided feeling, but it’s there either way. To the Nomads. Some of them are waiting just outside the entrance to their den. The shuffling of everyone wanting to do the same is halted by a fourth voice. One that should not be, because there are only three tribes.

“Azazel of the Chains Tribe.”

Crowley turns to his right hand. “I beg your bloody pardon?”

Azazel smiles slyly and gives a barely-there shrug, like he’s announced the grass is green and spring is coming. His timing is only off by a few thousand miles and has the effect of lightning striking in the middle of the table.

“Aww, come now, Crowley, don’t pretend you were unaware of the mishaps of late,” he drawls, “They have forced my hand to form a new pack. And I figured why not announce it at The Gathering before the vote. As is well within our rights.”

Which it is. The gods of war help them, an Omega can’t sit at this table to claim a pack, but Azazel has the right to do exactly that and try to become their leader in the same breath. And with this new pack emerging from the shadows, Dean can feel the world tilting upside down around him. Because as he looks from Azazel to Alastair to John, he knows with absolute certainty his father will lose. The simple fact that he has a responsibility to see it through, to make sure, is all that stops him from walking out then and there.

“Mishaps!” Crowley barks, spittle flying from his lips. “You’re the bleeding mishap, Azazel. Just because your precious daughter couldn’t marry his son and I didn’t object…” 

Oh, not this again, Dean thinks. Ruby and her infatuation with Sammy. Sam and his girls in general, is the afterthought, as he glances to his father. Aside from the way his nostrils are subtly flaring, John is the picture of calm. That seething quiet in the eye of the storm Dean grew up with. His palms go sweaty as his father starts speaking. His voice rumbles up from deep in his chest, like rolling thunder.

“It might be within your rights, but it would have been good fitting to inform your equals on the matter.”

 _Equals_. Dean registers the use of the word, but doesn’t have time to give it further thought, except that they aren’t equals. By a hair’s breadth is he, a packless, even sitting at this table. Dean has no idea what his father had to do to get the others to bend to that and he doesn’t intend to ask. And immediately he gets the unsettling impression his very presence might be making things worse.

“Good form is not necessarily my style, you know that, John.” He taps the wooden pen on the table and smiles. “Shall we?”

Dean nearly stumbles out of The Bunker, straight into Sam and his Mom.

The glare of the sun augments the assault on his already frayed nerves. There’s a cloud of scents on him that has a few curious shifters backing away. Dean catches sight of Garth among those present, undoubtedly waiting for the result. He is distracted by what he thinks is a pale long coat removing itself from The Bunker, until Sam’s hand press down on his upper arm. He searches Dean’s face. And he watches Sam’s face fall along with the shattered pieces of his naive hope. Dean feels his mother’s arm snake around his waist and he wraps his own around her shoulders. Her indignant strength coursing through her.

If the pack Alphas hope to keep a lid on this, Dean’s probably ruined the option with his dramatic exit.

But fuck that.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam snarls softly.

“Start walking, boys,” their mom orders. “Not here.” She disengages from the embrace smoothly.

“Walk, Sammy,” Dean echoes, when Sam doesn’t immediately budge.

“Tell me.”

“I fucking will,” he snarls lowly, “But Mom’s right. Let’s get back to the Nomads. There was a massive problem in our blind spot.”

“Who…?” Sam starts, but Dean drags him along.

They start moving through the forest with the ease of those who grew up in it and soon they are out of earshot of anyone near The Bunker.

“Dean. What happened?”

Mary beats him to it, as she navigates the forest quietly. “Azazel happened.”

Sam pales and halts in his tracks. Grunting, Dean pulls him along, almost tripping him up in the process. He keeps talking, hoping to head off the potential calamity that’s about to take out his brother’s brain. Common sense and restraint along with it, if it really goes south.

“Azazel fell out with Crowley and announced his new tribe right before the vote. Which went over about as well as you imagine it did. Ruby sided with Azazel.”

He almost adds why, but Sam doesn’t need that guilt on top of the hurricane that’s unleashed. His mother’s expression tells him she connects the dots easily enough. Perhaps expected this outcome.

“Azazel,” Sam echoes. “Dean, he...”

He closes his eyes for a second, baring his teeth at the world. “I know, Sammy.” Though it was never proven, for all intents and purposes Azazel is responsible for what happened to Jess.

“What about the Nomad request?”

“Suspended until after the Elysian request is dealt with.”

“Of course… Never mind that we’ve lived in these lands for years.”

His mother clicks her tongue in annoyance and looks at Dean. “Who the hell else voted for him? He’s the worst of us.”

Dean bites back the denial. He didn’t know hope could be so painful and delusional all at once. Perhaps hope hurts so much because it’s a delusion.

“Hold on!” Sam says, “Where is his den, if he’s split off from Crowley’s pack?”

“Fair question. No one asked in the wake of that chaos, I’ll admit. Why?”

“To fucking know where to expect them, Dean. To prepare.”

He wants to bark a response. Prepare for what? But Sam’s already putting on enough of a show for the both of them and they’re about to rejoin the din of the festival.

“Sam, sunshine, get a reign on your emotions. You boys need to get to the camp. Talk to Bobby, inform the others.”

“We’re not done yet,” Dean nods, determination settling in.

Because if this were a regular Gathering, they might perhaps have stood a chance. Elysium’s arrival reshuffles the entire deck and likely adds in cards no one knows the meaning of. A few fools and voids, for all he knows. At least in that sense, this settles some of his unease and lack of purpose.

Sam wants to reply and the words are almost out, when Dean clamps his hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare say it,” he whispers lowly. “Don’t you fucking dare, Sam. You’re the one who’s been itching for this fight. Well, we’ve got it.”

The glare Sam shoots him is deserved, but the words suffice to shut him up as he becomes aware of his surroundings once more. A few shifters sniff the air and eye them curiously.

“Will you two calm down? Noses in the same direction, this instant. You should be able to smell the promise of blood on the air already.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a long while, their mother’s scent wafting around them. When Dean lets go of him, he shakes his hair and wipes both hands down his leathers. “I wasn’t itching for the fight, Dean. I needed them to give us space… Acknowledge us.”

“What did you think was gonna happen? If you ask nicely, we’d all sit down by the fire, holding hands and singing?”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s a dream, Sammy. Because the shifters at that table don’t want to hand over what they believe is rightfully theirs, even if it goes against common sense. Their minds don’t work that way.”

“It beats doing nothing!”

Dean knows that reproach is not meant for him, but for their parents. He gestures at Sam to reel it in, balling his hand into a fist in frustration. Sam glares, but taken aback by himself looks at their Mom meekly. 

“I see how it might look that way from your point of view,” she says.

“We know, Mom,” Dean says.

“Since when is it we?” Sam asks him delicately.

“Since always, Sam. Was it ever going to be any other way?”

He rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing the muscle like he’s trying to make sure they’re real. “I guess not.”

“You guess not,” Dean huffs. “Let’s go. We’ll need to be at The Sacred Site later. At least we’re still allowed to sit at that table."

“Of course,” Sam sighs. “Like Elysium’s not going to strike this iron while it’s hot.”

“Mom…” Dean starts.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be by your father’s side as he is by mine. Give Bobby and Karen my love.”

“For all the good it’ll do any of you.”

Mary smiles at them. Dean angles his face into her hand, when she caresses his cheek and leaves her scent in his neck, subtle but present. She does the same for Sam. “We have to try and keep Azazel in line.”

“His lap dog, more like,” Dean says, thoughts skipping to the expression he saw on Alastair’s face when he barged out of The Bunker.

He watches his mother nearly vanish in one of Sammy’s on-brand hugs. “Be smart, my cubs.”

“Aren’t we always?” Dean winks at her. He gets a fond eye roll for his effort.

Castiel feels like he’s holding onto a piece of wood while he’s stuck in rapids, heading for a waterfall. Dean’s distress when he stumbled out of The Bunker was obvious to anyone, but for him, it clings to his throat. His first urge to gather everyone back together. There is still the unresolved matter of their independence, but he knows better than to go with the flow. There is no time to slow down. Elysium doesn’t allow for it. Nor does he know how the Tribes will behave with a new Alpha in charge. Maybe they will want them off their lands as soon as possible, indifferent to the cost of that outcome.

His first stop is The Fort to get Charlie out. Fear grips him when he arrives to find her door unlocked and open. As he steps inside, he sees a female shifter helping Charlie to her feet.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, gorgeous.”

Castiel straightens to his full height, steeling his tone. “Who are you?”

Both women turn to him. Charlie’s face is so pale, he wonders if she’s bleeding. But her face splits into a wide, albeit tired smile. “Cas! Cas, I’m so glad to see you. Dorothy, this is him. Cas, meet Dorothy. She’s helping me get out of here.”

“How can you know already?”

Dorothy shrugs as she handles Charlie with care. “I was outside The Bunker, just like you, and no offence, but I know my way around better."

“So you’re tribal,” Castiel mutters.

“Oh, yes,” Dorothy nods. “I am and I will remain with my pack. Mary and John will need help in the days to come.”

The way she says those words, it sounds like she has had to say them a few times in the past few minutes.

“She’s the reason I hit my heat!”

“Oh, for all that’s lurking in the caves’ shadows,” Dorothy groans. “I am sorry, alright.”

Charlie grabs on to her fervently. “Don’t be sorry! Just come with us. My heat isn’t over yet.” She wags her eyebrows suggestively in a way that reminds him of someone.

Dorothy widens her eyes at her and flusters. “Can you please talk some sense into her?” Dorothy turns to him.

“You’re… mates?” Castiel tries gently as he steps forward.

He pries Charlie off of Dorothy. Both of them let out a soft whine as he does so. With effort, he doesn’t let their emotions affect his own… but the lure of a mating bond suddenly hangs heavy on the air. He pushes his tongue to the roof of his mouth, swallowing down saliva.

“I think so…” Dorothy looks away. “But I can’t leave my pack. Not with everything that is going on. Neither can Charlie stay here. I need her away from all this.”

“I appreciate your foresight,” Castiel says. “And your honesty.”

“I don’t!” Charlie snaps. “Cas, have you ever had a mate?”

She blurts it out, not to get a reply, when she rambles on. The feelings that come with the answer are the equivalent of poking a sleeping bear in its cave.

“This is very bad form,” Charlie says, her doe eyes in full effect. “From a traditional point of view.”

Dorothy flashes her an impetuous grin and leans closer. Castiel is drawn deeper into the effect, whether he likes it or not and he smiles in surprise. This is one of those scents that’s nigh impossible to ignore.

“Beloved, for starters, you’re as far from traditional as you can get. And I’m a tribal hunter. Of course I’m bad form. But hunters protect their own, any which way we can.”

“I’m yours?” Charlie squeaks softly.

Dorothy lifts her hands in defeat. “That’s what you take away from that?”

“Gods, you are,” Castiel mutters. “You are a bit much to be around.”

“Have you smelled yourself lately?” Charlie snaps.

“No surprise there,” Castiel admits, considering the seesaw of emotions he’s been on the past few days. “The voting outcome wasn’t John.”

“I guessed as much. So who is it?” Dorothy asks.

“I don’t know… All I know is that it wasn’t John and he was our best bet at… anything. So I left as soon as that became clear. I want to take Charlie back to our camp.”

“Excellent. Take her,” Dorothy says.

But she doesn’t let go immediately. Castiel’s face must betray the clenching of his heart, as the Alpha purses her fiery red lips and steps back from Charlie with effort.

“I am not some prize to be moved around the board!” Charlie bites, eyes filling with tears.

“I know! Alright, I know! But there are too many here who might not feel the same and how many do you think we can take down before they get their hands on you if this escalates. If Alpha Winchester is off that same board…” She rubs a shaking hand to her forehead, eyes wider. “You’re an unmated Omega Nomad.”

“You could have fixed the unmated bit last night!”

Castiel casts his eyes to the heavens, imploring the pantheon he has long lost faith in for something… anything really.

A gentle knock at the door and a familiar voice floats in. “Everyone alright in here?”

Castiel glares at the skies. Anything but _him_.

“Dean,” Dorothy sighs. “Good. Charlie won’t listen.”

“Of course she won’t,” Dean says as he saunters over. “What did you expect? Or rather, would you have it any other way?”

His eyes skim over Castiel when he says it. Castiel pointedly refuses to meet his gaze. He keeps his breathing even and shallow, having established that ever since the beach stunt he can pick up Dean’s scent at all times and it’s exhausting. Gloriously intoxicating, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Not you too,” Dorothy groans. “This is no laughing matter!”

“On that I think we all agree,” Castiel nods, voice clipped. “We’re going, Charlie.”

“But…”

“We’re all going,” Dean puts in. “Sam is headed to the camp. I figured I’d pick up Charles here.”

Dorothy steps closer to Dean and Charlie in the process, their fingers linked back together. “You’re going with them?”

Dean shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I haven’t been part of this pack in a while.”

“Who is the new Alpha?”

“Azazel,” Dean says.

“ _Morrigan’s Tits_ ,” Dorothy mutters.

Castiel wishes that whoever Azazel is didn’t elicit this kind of response. He tries to remember and comes up with a blurry image of a shifter with yellow eyes.

“And fine tits they are,” Charlie says.

Dean grins at both women. “I’m sure she appreciates the two of you, hell, the three of us having an opinion on her tits. Which is neither here nor there for Azazel now running the show.”

Castiel has trouble keeping up with their dynamics. It’s like he’s in a special pocket of chaos within the larger chaos and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe he should just laugh. That was always Gabriel’s advice.

Dorothy looks at Dean and puts a hand to his shoulder. “You know you still have a home with us… Right?”

Dean’s cheeks move as he clenches his jaws. “Maybe. But I ain’t planning on getting side-lined as a packless in The Bunker or at the site with more gatherings and follow-ups and wordy stories to get people in line with something I don’t agree with, while it might be going to hell out there.”

Dorothy nods in understanding. “Of course you’re not. But I’m staying.”

Dean searches her face. A flicker of worry crosses his features as Dorothy shoots him a sad smile. “Don’t do anything stupid, Doro.”

She barks a sudden laugh, which is picked up by Dean. Castiel wishes he heard that under different circumstances. “Hunters? Never.”

“What the hell is wrong with your tribe?” Charlie asks. “You can hear it, right? Cas? Tell me you can hear them say that and they mean the exact opposite.”

Castiel glances from Dorothy to Dean and sees how they share something uniquely Hunter in their posture and attitude. “I’m starting to get that impression, yes.”

Dean flashes him a crooked smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. Their color seems almost dulled by recent events, which must surely be his imagination. Charlie squirms out of his grasp and throws her arms around Dorothy. The Alpha’s response is pure instinct and Castiel is moved by how beautiful they are. She bows her head, hiding her face in the crook of Charlie’s throat, one hand finding purchase in the strands of hair at the back of her neck. Despite all it entails when he can think, when he can remember, he gazes at them, mesmerized by the glow they’re emitting as it melts something within. A pair of black and russet united in a natural profound bond. The sentiment is short-lived and leaves a horridly tender impression in its wake. Profound, perhaps, but natural…

When he looks sideways to Dean, he finds the younger shifter more guarded than he’s ever seen him. He wants to reach out and smooth the worry from his forehead, return him to his usual… charmingly annoying self. He is too young to be going through this. Charlie and Dorothy step back from their embrace. Charlie is shaking and Dorothy looks like she might pass out. Until they both stand taller. They all are, he thinks, and it’s potentially down to his family.

Charlie’s words fall from her lips to Dorothy’s, they’re standing so close. “What he said, alright? Don’t you dare do anything stupid?”

“You keep fucking safe,” Dorothy says.

Castiel can tell she wants to add a promise. Of returning. Of finding each other again. Something of the sort. But she doesn’t. Instead she takes a step back, folds her arms behind her back and juts her chin towards the hallway.

“I gotta get back to letting everyone who wants out of here out. They deserve to know what changed.”

“Kate’s running this shift, yeah?”

Dorothy nods. “We’re good, but no idea if any of the others will show up to intervene.”

“That would mean they show their cards.” Dean steps forward and hugs Dorothy, his eyes squeezed shut as he kisses her forehead. “We’ll find a way to keep in touch if it comes to that.”

Castiel sighs when he realizes Dean’s making the promise Dorothy can’t. Not for the first time, he wishes Dean was something he isn’t. Charlie tucks herself back into his arm and they make their way out of The Fort. For all that has changed, everything looks the same outside. Shifters wander around the festival, perusing the wares. Sharing food. Singing. Dancing. Smiling. Laughing.


	8. To Find The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In any case,” Azazel says. “The Nomads are next on the agenda, after we close our business.”
> 
> “Even better,” Zachariah smiles, and there’s something in his tone that sets Dean’s hackles up. “We’d like to lay a claim on that one.”
> 
> Dean cocks his head as if to ensure he’s hearing this right, but yeah, the bald fucker repeats it. “We want that one.”
> 
> Zachariah’s body oozes smug ease when he points a finger at Castiel.

Castiel looks at the faces around him, all of them reflecting one or more of a myriad of feelings he’s experiencing. They’re sitting in the mess tent in the center of their part of the Nomad camp, as far removed from the boundary on all sides as they can be. Around them, the other Nomads, who aren’t with their pack, have been brought up to speed insofar as they can be. He notices most of them are banding together. One family starts to dismantle their tent.

His attention goes towards the food, though he can’t tell if he’s actually hungry or leaning into the familiarity of it. Both hands holding it, Bobby sets down Sam’s favorite cast-iron cauldron in the middle of the table. Steam billows up from its contents, which has been simmering on the smoldering fire since this morning. Ellen and Jo are united in filling the bowls and passing them around to whichever pair of hands is fastest, both women’s faces set in tight lines.

Charlie is wrapped in a blanket still, blockers masking the last remnants of her heat. Next to her, Kevin looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. Claire squeezes between them, licking her lips as Castiel sets down a bowl in front of her, while Kaia squishes herself to Kevin’s other side with Patience.

“Feed me!”

“Patience, cub,” Castiel admonishes Kaia.

She and Claire are like twins, in stark contrast to their aesthetic differences. Patience is the voice of reason in their little triumvirate, though she talks decidedly less. Yet for all their reckless energy, they pick up on the unique vibe of their current situation. He can tell his daughter pricking her ears when she glances around the table and fiddles with a bracelet. Castiel looks at her in mute question, smiling while he nudges his chin out gently.

“For you,” she returns the smile.

Reaching over, she doesn’t make it far enough across the table, so he puts his arm out. She pushes up his sleeve haphazardly and fiddles, her tongue protruding between her lips, while she ties the bracelet around his wrist. When she’s done, she presses her nose to it for good measure.

“There. To keep you here.”

Castiel looks at her in confused wonder, unsure what to make of that. When Jo hands him his steaming bowl of food, he sits down between Ellen and Gadreel. His eyes are drawn to the Winchester brothers sitting opposite him. Eileen is at Charlie’s side, eyeing the younger shifter subtly.

Bobby parks himself across from Karen. True to form, he doesn’t mince his words as he pours water into his mug and passes it on. The veneer of eating together comfortably as if it is any other day peels off with every word. “Well… Elysium already asked for the follow-up,” Bobby says. “Azazel is wasting no time.”

“Where?” Sam asks.

Karen points with her spoon. “The Sacred Site, but they are holding a perimeter.”

“Who are they?”

Bobby grunts, which earns him a curious look from Dean on his right side. “Azazel and his pack.”

Jo huffs. “How big can that damned pack be? They literally just emerged.”

Sam’s voice sounds tired when he speaks. “Bartholomew sided with him. Shifters are falling in line for the new Alpha, befitting tradition.”

Ellen quirks an eyebrow at Sam. “I sincerely hope you’re being facetious.”

“I wish I were.”

“What about John?”

“He’s not going to risk civil war,” Bobby says. “John knows when to concede to gain more information.”

Charlie pulls her blanket closer around her. She isn’t touching her food. “What do we do? Do we wait to hear what happens with Elysium?”

“It might be wise to see where our request for independence lands,” Gadreel offers, “Though I am not holding out much hope.”

Kevin snorts and shakes his hands in refusal. “Or alternatively and much smarter, how about we get the fuck out of here before that shit hits. Because we know it will, right?”

Castiel would be lying if his survival instinct isn’t telling him the same.

“How far do you wanna run, Kev?” Charlie asks, visibly out of sorts.

She hasn’t mentioned Dorothy to anyone else yet. Neither have he and Dean.

Kevin makes a face and waves a hand towards the beach. “How far is far enough? There’s an ocean right there. We can just build a boat.”

“Can you navigate?”

“He can.” Kevin points at Dean down his side of the table.

“I can,” Dean nods. “But it takes weeks to build a boat. And the one I was brought back on stayed with the pack I left on the other side.”

_Oh_. Castiel connects the dots, like tracing a constellation in the heavens. A surge of remorse swirls in his gut. “You asked for help,” he says on a rough exhale.

Dean’s gaze meets his across the table with so much more tenderness than Castiel is comfortable with given their current company. “Warned them, actually, but yeah. I have no idea if they’ll show up. Or if Hugin will even make it.”

Charlie narrows her eyes at Castiel and turns clever eyes on Dean, some of her agitation seeping away. Sam opens his mouth, but Dean shakes his head, lips pursed tight.

“Charlie’s question holds merit,” Bobby continues. “How far are we willing to run? How long do we want to keep running?”

“We are not geared for war,” Gadreel points out. “Some of us can stand our ground, but we are no organized force. We can’t take them on the way we are now.”

“Listen to yourselves,” Kevin pleads. “You’re talking about war. I thought the idea was to avoid that.”

“It is,” Sam says. “But denying the possibility of it will leave us defenceless.”

Eileen signs furiously, her tone like steel. “ _And if it comes to that, we find allies. Right?_ ”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

Part of him wants to safeguard and protect. Another part wants to shift and start ripping out throats. A familiar dichotomy he’s been managing for years.

“Again,” Dean says, a curious eye on him, “This too takes time. So the plan needs to go beyond that. Where do we stay while we find these allies? How do we contact them? Hellfire, how do we choose them?”

Jo huffs at him. “Are you here to _help_? Or just ask questions that limit our options?”

“Jo,” Ellen chides.

“I am here to strategize,” Dean says, arching an eyebrow as he shovels in food the way a soldier does. He speaks around a full mouth, which really should bother Castiel more. “Think. What do you need to do if this goes south?”

“We pack,” Castiel says, frowning at the food in his spoon. He hasn’t eaten much. “We pack as best we can so we can leave fast.”

“Exactly,” Dean nods. “If the meeting with Elysium goes well, all you’ll have done is pack early. Then we can see if they acknowledge us or not.”

“At this rate, I am not sure the threat only comes from Elysium,” Sam adds.

“Same deal though,” Bobby nods.

The way his words peter out has Castiel glancing down the table. They’re on quicksand. Everyone knows it. He also belatedly registers the 'us'.

Bobby meets his gaze. “I take it we are all attending again as representatives?”

Castiel squints at him. “Won’t that depend on whether the new Alpha lets us?”

One eyebrow arched his way, Bobby sighs gruffly as he chews his food. “Balls. Never liked the yellow-eyed runt of his litter and his tendency to piss on everything to claim it.”

Karen makes the worst face at that. “Oh, _Sacred Sulis’ wells_ , you’re gonna put people off their food.”

Eileen’s face does tricks, as she lets rip a helpless giggle.

“Well, he did. I would know, we grew up at the same time. Boy pissed on everything like he was on a quest to prove himself. Didn’t understand that wasn’t the best way to prove himself either.”

Sam is staring at Bobby, shaking his head in slight disgust and disbelief.

“Oh, great,” Dean says as he scrapes the last of his food out of his bowl. “Not only is he a traditionalist, he’s a traditionalist with territorial incontinency issues. How can this _pissibly_ go wrong?”

It’s silly. But Castiel chuckles. When he finds Dean looking at him with a distinct sparkle in his eyes, it gets worse.

“You’re terrible,” Castiel says through a guffaw.

Dean looks offended, but his expression brightens exponentially. Sam snorts a cynical laugh. Dean grins at him in turn. When Castiel looks at Charlie, she bites her lip and snickers, trying to hide it. Despite everything. It isn’t long before the whole table is swept up in a desperate fit of giggles.

Azazel lets them. 

He sends word through Jody, John’s right hand, who is clearly put out by being summoned as a messenger. She has to report back immediately, but obeys all the same. Castiel is charmed by the no-nonsense vibe on her and the effect she has on both Sam and Dean. After clearing the remnants of their bowls and lunch, Castiel puts Gadreel and Ellen in charge of packing their basics so they can leave quickly, if need be.

“Claire,” he says.

“Yes?”

“You all stay within the camp today, until I’m back. And apply your blockers.”

She sighs at him and looks to Kaia. Patience nods sweetly. “We will. I will make sure they do.”

Castiel smiles at her, gently tugging at his daughter’s braid when she rolls her eyes. “Oh, everyone will keep an eye on you. I am just saying it out loud, so you can’t pretend I didn’t later.” He narrows his eyes at Claire, who instantly turns up her charm and makes grabby hands.

Sam scoffs a laugh, as Castiel picks her up. She bumps her nose to his. “Is something going on?”

Putting a hand to her hip as she leans on the table, Karen snorts softly at that. “Observant little tyke, I keep telling you.”

“There is,” Castiel nods, “Something might be changing. Which is why I want you in the camp. Claire. Promise.”

He puts his hand to her chest and she pouts. It’s an old habit. One he taught her as soon as she could speak.

“Hands on my heart, Claire.”

She fiddles with the lapels of his coat, but settles both paws on his heart. He looks at her wide-eyed and expectant, because she didn’t get her puppy dog eyes from any strangers. Scowling lightly, Claire nods, sounding dramatically defeated. “I’ll stay in the camp. We all will.”

Because she will not suffer alone. Of course not. Castiel chuckles. 

“I love you.” He kisses her on the forehead and she rubs her cheek to his, as he sets her down. Kaia rawrs at Claire playfully and all three of them take off running. Castiel sees Gadreel respond to it as he and Ellen take down some of their fire pits.

“Ready?” Bobby asks.

“As we’ll ever be.”

Sam nudges his shoulder into his as they walk to the Sacred Site with Bobby.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters.

“Which part exactly?” Castiel asks, very much in a similar mood.

Grimacing, Sam gestures at the world at large. “Remember I told you about Jess at one point?”

Castiel nods and watches Bobby get ahead of them. It hadn’t been much of a story, but what Sam told him was enough. He and Jess were in love, but Jess was handed to another.

“It was a tribal marriage,” Sam says. “Meant to strengthen inter-pack dynamics. Soothe some or other slight I can’t even remember.”

Castiel’s chest starts to ache with the familiarity of the tale. No matter how often he hears it in its different variations, his empathy won’t let up, try as he might. He leans towards Sam, though for all the good intentions he has to pass calm through his scent, the massive amount of blockers they’re all wearing prevent it.

“Her husband was a traditionalist,” Sam says, face contorting. “Part of Azazel’s extended family… so he was supposed to keep her safe. I tried getting to her. Run away with her.”

He shrugs, his large frame surprisingly vulnerable in the gesture. “I was kept on a short leash at home. Assured she’d be fine, cause after all our mom was fine too, right? Our dad has a lotta faults, but that wasn’t one of them.”

Castiel’s face must have given him away, because Sam bumps into him and nods fervently. “I’m serious. I know he comes off as a dick and he can be, but he’s always given mom the space. He’s tried. Dean’s right. It was just never enough for me, not before Jess and sure as hell not after.”

“What happened?”

“A fire in their den. Carelessness on the pack’s part. Jess didn’t get out. Though sometimes part of me wonders if she chose…”

“No,” Castiel says instinctively. “The way you speak about her, Sam, she would not have. She would have tried to return to you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam nods with an uneasy smile. “Thanks, Cas. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that he’s now going to lead the tribes.”

“None of you have made a very good case for him, so I’m not sure what to expect from his dynamics with Elysium.”

“Neither do we.”

Castiel swallows down his insecurities and doubts, as they arrive at the Sacred Site. They’re the last to do so.

He hasn’t been around this many shifters in years and suddenly he finds himself in his family’s company. His family who strangely have not given any indication of recognition nor tried to claim him back into their pack. The way Amara looked at him during her speech, he wants to believe her. That she has changed their family for the better.

Standing behind his father, Dean keeps glancing at Lucifer. Predictably that only amuses Lucifer. Castiel can’t be sure, but Dean’s nose must be exceptionally good, if he’s aware that Lucifer was the one who got away the day they met. Castiel doesn’t know if he wants to point it out. The less Lucifer can pick up on, the better. The less Dean knows, the less danger he is in.

And that thought is a sure sign he isn’t as neutral towards Dean as he ought to be.

He tries to keep breathing when Rowena opens this second parlay.

Elysium is in full attendance, Lucifer and Michael in tow. Both are generals, so Dean doesn’t quite understand why they’re there. Especially Lucifer, because he looks to be completely ignoring the actual going-ons in favor of staring at those present. He’s smiling at the shifters beyond the set perimeter. He wanders up to them, movement stilted, leaning close to those who have cubs.

Amara calls him back to order, when he upsets them enough some of them start crying and it draws attention away from the conversation.

John is the only one who has not yet officially bent the knee to Azazel. Not that it seems to bother their new Tribal Alpha much, Dean thinks, by the way he holds himself. He’s all slick smugness. Alastair is worse. 

Bartholomew was the first to side with them. Crowley has always known which side his bread is buttered on, which is the side he deems most likely to win. As long as Dean can remember, there has not been a breach among the Tribes. He wonders if that’s the reason this parlay is hardly a parlay, but the Tribes surrendering to Elysium’s wishes in thinly veiled words of praise to their old enemy. Leave it to traditionalists and zealots to align.

Amara smiles, her dark eyes glittering. “You give me hope for our future. I must admit, I had not expected this forthcoming cooperative behavior.”

Azazel clicks his tongue around a charming smile, his yellow eyes narrowing. “It all depends who you deal with, fair lady Amara.”

She cocks her eyebrow at the moniker, pressing her lips together. “Lady Amara will do, lord Azazel. No need for flattery, when you’re the one coming to our aid.”

Lest he gets any ideas, Dean thinks.

“We’ve discussed it within the Tribes and we believe we are able to assist you. No pack should suffer the way you are.”

Dean tastes the need to protest on the air, but somehow Azazel’s sunk his claws into the moment.

“Excellent,” Zachariah smiles. “Do you have any lined up to choose from?”

That’ll do it. The Nomads lean forward almost in unison, Sam planting his large hands wide on the table, Cas is hot pursuit, his expression stony.

“You’re letting them choose?” Sam snaps.

Zachariah waves a hand at them. “If I’m not mistaken, your pack or what passes for it, has no official status, which makes you little more than wandering mud monkeys, so I doubt your opinion matters.”

“Zachariah,” Amara hisses. “Mind your language. The Tribes and Nomads are finding a new balance, as we all must.” 

She turns to the Nomads, her eyes catching Castiel’s. “My apologies on his behalf. We’ve still a fair way to go.”

Castiel’s brow furrows, as if in pain, and he nods at her, an unsure smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“In any case,” Azazel says. “The Nomads are next on the agenda, after we close our business.”

“Even better,” Zachariah smiles, and there’s something in his tone that sets Dean’s hackles up. “We’d like to lay a claim on that one.”

Dean cocks his head as if to ensure he’s hearing this right, but yeah, the bald fucker repeats it. “We want that one.”

Zachariah’s body oozes smug ease when he points a finger at Castiel.

“And him.” Lucifer steps forward and lands cold eyes on Sam. His voice is grating, like he doesn’t use it a lot.

_Morrigan take them to the deepest level of hell. May ravens pluck out their eyes, while they’re alive. May their eyes grow back overnight and the whole process repeat itself day after day after day._

Which is a split second of a thought, before his wolf eats up his restraint, rears up and Dean reacts on instinct. He steps forward, bypassing every other shifter outranking him.

“You don’t get to choose. They do.”

Zachariah bares his teeth at him in offence, but it reads as mere bluster. Dean can smell Zachariah is no soldier. But it is a similar instinct, mirroring the way Dean behaves. He dismisses him almost immediately, because the real issue bleeds from Lucifer. Lucifer who surges forward, teeth bared into a vicious smile, intent teetering into violence, lapping around everyone’s ankles. The war doesn’t linger for him, Dean thinks, he _breathes_ it. He plants himself, rising to his full length and finds he’s eye to eye with Lucifer. Something in how he moves is strange, like he’s off kilter. Both in mind and form. He wonders what Amara meant when she said he likes to roam. The cape he wears obscures most of him from sight.

He wants to use his voice. Order the lot of them in line. Elysium back behind its walls. A furious part of him, fueled only by Alpha rage, wants to give kill orders. The Elysians. Lucifer. Zachariah. Azazel. Alastair. All of them. His vision flashes red, his Alpha urging him on. His gaze gets caught on Lucifer’s, whose face is contorted in a challenging smirk. He _wants_ Dean to lose it. It would be the perfect excuse to take what they want.

And Azazel would let them. With effort, he swallows the words down, returning to his physical form. He digs his nails into his palm hard enough to draw blood. A harsh breath escapes him and he inhales through his nose, forcing the scents around him down his lungs to focus himself on the reality of what is at stake. With crystal-clear clarity, he finds his brother, Cas, his father and zones in on them to ground himself.

Barely any time has passed while he went on his quiet tangent and movement in his peripheral draws his attention away from Lucifer.

Amara lifts her hand and holds Lucifer back with barely any effort. Dean sees tendrils of black smoke emanating from her hand, but they’re gone before he can look twice. They remind him of what he’s seen Rowena use.

“Dean.”

John’s voice. He ignores it.

“This is your idea of respect?” Dean snarls. “This ain’t your call. You waltz in here with your sob story, which I’m pretty sure is down to your own stupidity, ask for our help, knowing full well it goes against our grain… Somehow we end up with that douchebag over there and everything shifts in your favor.”

“Dean!” John barks.

“Are you the Nomad Winchester?” Zachariah asks, as he rises and stands in front of him. “Or the Packless?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hm, the Packless. Charmed by your intentions as they all undoubtedly are, you have no say in this. Stand back, pup.”

Dean almost heaves at the nickname. He snarls. “Elysian or not, allegiance or not, I will stab you in your face if you or your damaged little special brand of shifter here thinks you can claim any one of _ours_ without their consent.”

“Yours? Aren’t they Nomads? And where would you claim them to? You have no home to give.” Zachariah makes a tsk-ing sound at him. “Such old world values, Dean. We must grow beyond that.”

The silence that falls is painful. Dean knows he overstepped. And Zachariah’s words are poisonously painful.

Azazel rises. “Forgive this pup’s impertinence. He forgets his place.” Dean glances over his shoulder, an answer already forming, when Azazel continues and takes the wind out of his sails. “We already have volunteers.”

Ruby brings forth two shifters, a man and woman, neither of whom Dean recognizes. Alastair makes to grab Dean by the arm, but he moves out of reach. He tenses when another hand closes on his lower arm. Sam.

“I see you have your temper in check still,” Sam hisses.

“Dude, he was about to try and take you and Cas.”

“Like Dad was ever gonna let that happen. Cut them some slack.”

“Seriously? That’s the line I am getting _now_? Years of ‘ _Dean, we gotta do something_!’, ‘ _Dean, they’re gonna set us back_ ’ and now you tell me to cut them some slack, Sammy?”

“Okay, poor choice of words.”

John’s voice cracks down on them like a whip. “Boys.”

They look at him behind them in unison. “Shut up, both of you, before you unchain an actual war.”

Azazel claps his hand, laughing softly, and opens his arms. “Such high stakes, such fervor. I’m pleased to see we are able to bark and snap without losing our heads. Rest assured, there will be Omegas who chose to join Elysium freely. Considering the tempers that are flaring, I suggest we shelve all other topics until further notice.”

His yellow eyes track to the Nomads.

“You are welcome to stay for the Gathering’s final feast,” Azazel says. “To celebrate the new reigning era for the Tribes and our continued alliance.”


	9. A Lifelong Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergei’s voice floats to them. “Winchesters!”
> 
> “What?” Dean snaps as he turns around.
> 
> “Is Nomad maypole supposed to be on fire?”

The Gathering of leaders falls apart, but its onlookers linger. Dean can taste the emotions on the air: confusion, fear, but also satisfaction. He wishes he was capable of figuring out which feeling stemmed from whom. Sniff them out. Remove them at the root like invasive plants. He regrets not using his voice now, but knows full well it’s no use. For starters, people catch on after the order wears off. On top of that it goes against everything they’re trying to do. Though he’d like to see their faces when they find what it feels like to have their free will stripped.

They disperse to an extent, as they make way for the Elysians. Dean’s insides are churning. His heart does something heavy and painful while he watches Cas walk away. He doesn’t know which emotion to stomp on first. His mom walks up to them, linking hands with his dad. They communicate wordlessly and Dean grimaces at the additional emotions he picks up on. He wants to ask what is next, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak sense in this moment. Thankfully, Sam does it for him.

“Now what?” he huffs, voice thick with worry.

“We go to the Bunker,” Mary says.

Dean gives it thought and, sharing a look with Sam, senses they both dismiss it. If they’re going to be anywhere, it’s with the Wanderers. The Hunters can hold their own. Mary’s face distorts as she too catches on.

“They get this from you, you do know that?” she says to John.

“I prefer to think it’s equal parts you and me,” John grunts. Dean sighs when he sees his father’s dark eyes soften as his shoulders sag. “I am sorry I failed you.”

He nearly chokes on his own spit at that. “Dad,” he mutters. “Not here. Your people…”

“I can damn well apologize to my own sons and wife in public after what happened here. It’s not like it will make much difference to how anyone sees me anyway.” He bares his teeth for a moment. “They’re his people now.”

Sam works his mouth, figuring out the words or whatever he’s feeling, much like him, if Dean’s insides are anything to go by. “Who knows?” Sam asks eventually. “They might appreciate it.”

John makes a doubtful face. “Who knows indeed? I am not sure I fully understand this world anymore.”

“We need to get back to our pack, John.” Mary quirks an eyebrow and huffs at their father. “Shall we?”

Dean shuffles from one foot to the other. “We’re heading back to camp.”

“Will you come see us for dinner before you leave again?” Mary asks.

Sam and Dean exchange another look, and he likes to think they agree on one thing. There is no point making the gaping chasm larger. “I imagine we will, yes,” Sam nods.

John puts a hand on the shoulders of both sons. “Good. Stay safe, boys.”

Dean is running everything that happened in the last few days over in his head, while he scrubs Baby down. Munin is on his shoulder, nibbling at his hair or ear now and then. The steady sound of the brush combing through Baby’s hair is soothing, as is the effect of the skies steeped in sunset colors. Baby’s muscles ripple under the attention and pressure. She flicks her tail to get rid of the flies. Or tell him off when he stops for a few seconds, sunken in thought.

His emotions aren’t coming back down. They refuse to return to normal, though perhaps that’s because he isn’t sure what their new normal will look like. He knows he made a grave mistake in bypassing every one of the Alphas at the Gathering. Not that they can do much to him as such, but they can take it out on his pack. Again he trusts his parents and kin can hold their own. But it draws attention in irresponsible ways.

What do you do when it feels like the world becomes smaller? It feels like the woods will crush them if they stay. The ocean will swallow them if they run. Like they are throwing themselves off a cliff, whichever way they go.

He hears him coming this time. Perhaps because he recognizes the gait. The scent is strong, invasive in its barely contained anger. Dean sighs and rests his forehead to Baby’s flank, before looking sideways to find him. Munin caws and jumps onto her rear end.

The sight is equal parts impressive and appealing, intent obvious in his face. The fact that Castiel seeks him out with the clear objective to chew him out should tell him something, but he feels too tired to analyze it. He seems to be doing nothing but analyzing situations, coming up short every time. Dean stands tall as he tosses the brush to the hay and puts one hand on his hip expectantly, as he leans the other on Baby’s butt.

Castiel steps closer, his lips parting when he freezes in place and tilts his head. His face does the most interesting things and Dean stares, trying to interpret where this is going. He has a fair idea. He’s just wondering how he’ll go about it. Then Castiel licks his lips and tries again, when his hand comes up, palm down as if to calm a wild animal.

“Tell me, do you enjoy stepping in on someone else’s behalf?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Yes? No. Maybe. I mean, I’m kinda wired for it.”

“I could have handled it.”

He lets out a mirthless laugh, putting both hands to his belt. “You think that?”

“I’d have walked out. No one was going to take me anywhere.”

“So in a room full of Alphas, you’d have just fucked off while a precarious alliance was potentially in the balance.”

“Dean,” he grumbles. “I’ve not spent most of my life running to bend the knee when push comes to shove.”

“Except you couldn’t have handled it, Cas. If Azazel didn’t already have his volunteers picked out, who knows what could have happened? In case you forgot, Nomads… Wanderers like yourself, you dangle at the bottom of about everything. No pack, no rights. It’s why you keep moving. Because even though you found a dynamic within your group, you know you’re not a pack and you know you’re in constant danger.”

“And who put us there?” Cas snarls.

He scowls at the accusation. “You’re blaming me? I wasn’t even born. I’m ten years younger, you cradle robber. At least.”

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It’s beside the point, except for the fact that – surprisingly - it gets a rise out of Castiel.

“Are you calling me old? I’m not old. I’m youthful. Vibrant even.”

Dean blinks in wonder and feels a peculiar, out of place smile light up his face. He shrugs nonchalantly. “You keep calling me pup. Nice to see I can hit a nerve, old man. I’ll keep this up happily.”

“Will you, boy?”

Dean grins wider, brat in full swing and feels like he’s walking a tightrope over an inferno. Some of what Cas is exuding is genuine anger, though that can hardly be caused by the taunts about his age. It has to go deeper and this approach seems to work. Which is all kinds of fucked up, but Dean always liked playing with fire.

“I will,” he smirks. “Easy as pie.”

Castiel steps closer into his space, an olfactory assault on his senses, but Dean stands his ground. The way his voice drops, enunciating his words, has Dean swaying into him. “Stop stepping in on my behalf. Stop trying to save me, help me, whatever it is you think you are doing without my _consent_.”

Okay, that hits a nerve.

“You wanna talk consent, Cas?”

Dean raises his eyebrows at him and cocks his head to the side, baring his throat just a smidge. His own nostrils flare when he sees Castiel’s eyes go wide, pupils dilating.

“Let’s talk some about unconsented scenting maybe on your… on Claire’s behalf. Hm? Or how about this… How about we _don’t_ talk about you marking me on that beach! Pretend that never happened.” He jerks his hand to the side as he says it, giving a firm shake of his head.

Castiel balks, when Baby too gets agitated at hearing his voice rise. She rears her behind, trying to bump into the insolent creature that is upsetting Dean. Castiel steps out of her reach. The scent of frustration seeps into the air and sticks like something unpleasant to the back of Dean’s throat, spiked with guilt.

Holding a hand out towards Baby, Castiel grunts. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have.”

He snarls in anger, flawlessly picking up on the retreat. “Don’t you fucking dare…”

Castiel looks up in aggravated confusion at the vehemence in Dean’s tone.

“Here’s the thing, Cas. I don’t mind that you did. I was into it. A lot. Which I probably shouldn’t be and merits some closer inspection, but there was no time for that. I probably should be upset you did it, but I’m not. No, I wanna know why you did it in the first place?”

When Castiel looks down, uncharacteristically meek, brow furrowed, he thinks he has an angle and Dean pushes further. “Cause you’ve been barking and snapping at me ever since we met and, Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.”

Castiel looks up, glaring at him with all he has. Raw emotions spear through his scent at a speed that’s making Dean’s head spin. Holding on to his swagger, Dean clicks his tongue. It’s bluster, he knows it is and his wolf is not in agreement. Because the scent turns sour, like rotting meat, and changes into something that hits him hard. The word doesn’t come to him, but the feeling sinks its talons into his chest when Castiel speaks.

“It was wrong of me,” Castiel says. “I know it. And you know it.”

Frustration rages against his rib cage, because it tastes like a damn lie yet he can’t be sure. Castiel grimaces like he is in pain.

“Dean. Stop. You think you sense something that isn’t there.”

With that, he turns and walks away, tearing pieces of Dean apart as he goes.

Breathing hard, Dean hazily wonders how many more times he is going to have to look at his retreating back. He also wonders where he went wrong. Because it can’t _not_ be real, even if he can’t quantify or name what he’s feeling. His nose never lies. Infinitely more tired, he finishes rubbing Baby down. His chest aches like that time he tried to figure out plants’ characteristics by ingesting them, broom and amaryllis among them. There is a painful tension that settles into his neck and shoulders, fanning out towards his skull. Dean closes his eyes for a few moments, breathing Baby in.

She snorts and noses at him softly, while he picks up the saddle and blanket to throw it over her back. He and Sam agreed to stock up on supplies. He returns Munin to the tent before heading out into the myriad of tents and stalls, selling their wares, holding Baby by the reins.

Dean pats Baby’s nose gently when she snorts huffily at their slow pace. They have been wandering the stalls for long enough that Dean almost feels like it’s normal. Almost. Because some of that charm has not changed. The colorful stalls. There are fire baskets at regular intervals. Candles in and around every tent. The myriad of wares and the scents. Oh, the scents mingling with the warmth the sun leaves behind on everything. Dean surrenders to them with a passion, inhaling foods and perfumes from all over. Sam chuckles whenever he shoves his nose into a particularly soft fur blanket or inhales a book.

He wants to buy so many of the items and foods that they usually don’t get in such ample supply. He wants to give into his urge to nest. More so than he has in a long time. He wants to be able to, but it is not in his cards. His deck, even, he thinks. Instead, he buys a block of old cheese, two rolls of smoked sausage, a peculiar looking spiky kind of fruit Sam insists is tasty and one new fur. A pitch-black softly curling fur. Sam for his part gets a summer cloak for himself and Eileen. He still needs new blockers.

“I can’t believe they charge more to mated shifters,” Sam mutters, when they walk past a sign that says exactly that.

They walk up to the stall.

“Winchesters!” the man booms. “How can I help?”

“Blockers,” Sam says. “I need new blockers, if you have any.”

“For you, I will get my best!”

Dean frowns and nods his agreement at the peculiar approach. He’s trying to figure out the business tactic behind it as he observes the merchant rummaging at the back of his stall. He’s one of their regulars, an easy-going conversationalist, with a thick accent that befits his appearance. He has a lot of rare, occult items on offer and boasts shamanic skills, both of which go a long way in drawing customers.

“I’ve seen a few similar signs. Two or three, maybe. What was his name again? Sergei?”

Sam nods, while he handles a few athames, weighing them in his hand. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Dean watches as two young shifters walk up to Sergei. There is a charm to him as he opens his big arms wide and smiles at them, drawing them in by his physical presence alone. They step closer easily enough with their questions visible in their faces. His heartbeat spikes when Sergei’s big hand lands on the lower back of one of them. The girl leans into the touch, as he handles the wares. From the looks of it, they’re here for beginner heat items. Unmated discounts… He nudges Sam in the ribs and juts his chin out towards the interaction. Sam’s eyes narrow, then widen as his eyebrows shoot up in similar disbelief.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters.

“Oh, _Cern’s Balls_. Really? Dean, are they…?”

“I don’t know,” Dean snarls softly. “But I feel we should have a chat with Sergei.”

“Dean, wait,” Sam says, pursing his lips.

“Hey, Sergei!” Dean barks. “Found that magic blocker yet?”

Sergei turns around with a jovial smile. “Ah, yes, I am sorry for keeping you waiting. I will be right back with you young ones, yes? I need to close my deal with the Winchester sons.”

He walks over, robes falling wide, as he sets down four canisters of his special brand of blocker in front of them. Sam picks one up and unscrews it to give it a tentative sniff.

“Yeah, how about we talk about your unmated discount,” Dean says.

Sergei holds his gaze with a feigned innocence. “Is it for you or your brother? Because he is mated, yes?”

“I am,” Sam nods. “It’s for me.”

"And you are not..."

Sergei's gaze scrutinizes Dean unpleasantly.

“That’s not the point,” he says.

“I do not understand,” Sergei chuckles. “Unmated shifters often have less means, so I try to cut them some slack. Surely that cannot be a problem?”

“Not as such, no,” Sam says. “Unless you’re using it as a way to peg unmated shifters for… other reasons.”

“Other reasons?” Sergei echoes, brow furrowed in confusion. “I have no idea what…”

“Can it, Sergei,” Dean snaps. “You better not be providing a connection between these youngins and whoever has a thing for the unmated.”

“I would never!” His baritone voice goes louder. “Surely the sons of the Hunter pack would not think so lowly of one of their most loyal merchants. I have been here always. I have watched you boys grow up into such fine lads.”

He slaps a strong hand to a shoulder each. “Just because we have new Alpha does not mean you need to worry,” he laughs. “Relax. Enjoy. Now are you going to buy the wares or not? I will give discount if you want. You are, how they say it here, Wanderer, yes?”

He gives a placating gesture to Sam.

“Nomad. I think I’m good,” Sam says. “Thank you for providing a discount to those of us who have less.”

“Sam, what?”

“We need to get back to the camp for the feast,” Sam says, as he pulls Dean along. “We’ll be in touch, Sergei.”

Dean follows, Baby nudging him between his shoulder blades when he doesn’t _move._ “What the hell, Sammy?”

“Causing a scene is not going to help us. And if he’s doing what we think he’s doing, we just tipped him off. We tell Dad. Hell, we inform everyone who needs to know about all those stalls, alright?”

“I’d rather just drive a fucking…”

Sergei’s voice floats to them. “Winchesters!”

“What?” Dean snaps as he turns around.

“Is Nomad maypole supposed to be on fire?”

They turn as one towards the camp, where Sergei is pointing.

“Fire,” Sam breathes out. “Eileen.”

The list of names that grows before his mind’s eye is a lot longer than Dean anticipated. The fear that hooks under his ribs and tries to pry him apart worse. He hears the start of voices rising and screaming. Quick on his toes, he gets on Baby, Sam right behind him. She jolts forward, eager to get muscles moving, her hooves impacting on the soil and warning shifters to get out of the way.

Dean takes in his peripheral surroundings as they ride closer. It is contained. Whatever is happening, it’s within the camp. Which goes some way towards reassuring his concerns that Sam’s civil unrest would hit within a day of Azazel’s election. Then spikes it back to heart-palpitation levels when he realizes the Wanderers are being targeted.

They get to the boundary, a band of about five tribal shifters making their way out. Dean pulls the reins and Baby follows his direction, turning her flank towards them to block their path. Sam dismounts her at the same time and clocks one of the tribals to the ground the second he steps up to him.

“Dean, I gotta…”

“Go, Sam, I got this.”

Sam dodges out of reach easily and slips under the boundary, running towards the fire. In fact, Dean wants to follow suit, until he spots April among them. Suspicion rears its ugly head. He dismounts Baby and gets up in April’s face.

“What the hell did you do?” he barks at her.

There is a brief moment where she looks back at the fire, as if confused.

“Just… some banter that went wrong,” she says, her voice unusually contrite.

Dean follows her gaze, worry spiking through his anger. It’s a dumb move. Her hand shoots out lightning-speed and slams into his esophagus with a sickening sound. Twice. Dean staggers back, both hands reaching for his throat. He can’t breathe. Baby whinnies and rears up. Three shifters step forward with their arms out, spooking her.

“I don’t know what foul magic you used on me at The Fort, but we will figure it out. Until then, no more,” April hisses.

Dean squats low, bringing his arms up, and surges back up at full force. His elbow connects with her face with a loud crack and she stumbles backwards. Behind him he hears the sound of someone’s bones cracking under a hoof. Then a punch lands low in his back and white hot pain shoots through him. He can hear air wheezing as he tries to breathe in and it hurts.

He swallows down hard, wants to curse, but no sound comes out. He fucking can’t breathe. Fuming, he relies on both his wolf and his training, as he slips into his instincts to protect himself. He needs to get to the camp. To the others. His vision is starting to blur, but he sees them coming for him anyway. They crowd him, landing blows too easily. April’s fiery hair is a dead-give-away every time she steps into his space, even in the dark. He takes the beating, lands harsh blows on whoever he can, but it isn’t enough. Throws someone over his hip in a lucky break. They don’t come back up.

His head spins when a vicious blow lands to his temple, followed quickly by another. His vision blurs further, dark spots blotting out his surroundings. Snarling, he takes a nasty swipe, following his nose, and thinks he might have taken out April. He can’t tell anymore and his head is pounding. The scent of Baby invades his nose and he blindly grabs for her. Finds purchase on the blanket, follows it to the saddle and pulls himself up. She starts moving before he’s decently in the saddle and he hears the shifters chasing them.

He tries to speak, but no sound comes out.

His world goes entirely black while he falls unconscious.


	10. Don't Lie To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They can sense our unease.” Gadreel gives that soft smile, where his eyes vanish to slits, but his face goes back to its near-to-permanent serious setting. “Perhaps it is not a bad idea to take down the tent under cover of night.”
> 
> “Very well,” Bobby grunts as he gets to his feet. He slides the needle through the cloak and puts it in the basket. “Get some more hands involved.”
> 
> With the help of Ellen and Eileen, they get to work on loosening up the canvas. The majority of the camp has retreated into their tents, but those that are still awake take notice. Some follow suit. It is likely the cause for what follows next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter, the following three chapters titles all come from the hauntingly beautiful cover of [In The Pines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26aW1sLLzhU) by Janel Drewis. This can be on near-endless repeat for me, when I'm in a certain mood. Eyes always closed. Wistful, evocative...

While he walks away from what feels like an almost cruel encounter with Dean, Castiel isn’t paying attention. He makes sure he is out of sight. For starters, to prevent himself from looking back. Secondly, so Dean can’t see him double over, leaning his hands on his knees. His head throbs. His insides feel horridly cold. His teeth chatter so he clenches them harshly as he breathes deep, pressing an arm across his chest in a futile attempt to will his heart to slow down. He really ought not to get this worked up over this… but there is too much going on. This is worse than he thought. Much worse.

Dean is more than just an Alpha with a scent that appeals to him. He hums to himself, not sure if he’s elated or nauseous, but he’s definitely out of sorts. His control on any situation is debatable at the best of times, being what he is in the company he keeps. But he likes to think he has a fair measure of control over himself and his actions. Dean takes some of that from him, which makes him feel like he’s walking on a melting lake.

After a few moments, Castiel feels even-keeled enough and decides to go check on Claire. See if his daughter has decided to obey his request to stay in the tent with her friends. As he rounds Bobby and Karen’s tent to get to his own, he almost trips over Bobby.

“Castiel, watch it,” Bobby admonishes, leaning back on his tree trunk stool.

Bobby adjusts the leathers he’s mending by candle light, so Castiel doesn’t step on them. His keen eyes study Castiel. Castiel stares at the man in turn, without really seeing him, because he can’t stop _feeling_. He knows anger. He knows frustration. But this… He vaguely remembers it, but can’t name it. The balls on Dean to call Castiel out. _Correctly_ , which makes it even more unbearable. Which is probably why he’s in such knots. That must be it.

His eyes fall to Bobby’s hands, where he recognizes Claire’s winter cloak. He refocuses. At Bobby’s feet is a basket full of clothes that have been needing mending for a while.

“Yep,” Bobby says, as he grabs a handful of nuts from the bowl next to his thigh. “Figured I’d get ahead of it this time instead of letting it wait until autumn hits and the cubs start whining.”

He chews thoughtfully and offers some to Castiel, whose stomach turns at the idea of food. “I’m good, thanks.”

Bobby scoffs. “ _Yeah_ , you look it. Been lookin’ it for a while these past days.”

Castiel sucks his lips between his teeth. At least he doesn’t smell it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bobby offers, when Castiel holds his silence.

“Thinking?” Castiel echoes, while he frowns at the world.

“Yeah. I been thinking… It happens. Maybe we should take down the mess tent.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What about the feast?”

The older shifter gives a derisive snort. “Well, for one, it don’t start until close to midnight. For two, it’s out there and lastly, considering the new Alpha, I have half a mind to let this one pass me by. There’s a lotta boozing every night, but tonight…”

He clicks his tongue, one side of his mouth quirking up, and leaves the rest of his sentence up for interpretation.

Castiel hums when his brain provides any number of options, none of which he’s particularly into. “It _is_ our heaviest one.”

“And the most important,” Karen adds as she pokes her head out of the tent. “For every celebration, every year turn, every feast, mating and farewell…”

Castiel gives it a moment’s thought. Contrary to his expectations, the skies haven’t opened up to flood them and the stars still sparkle brightly above. Elysium behaves.

“There’s no sign of… trouble,” he offers.

“There ain’t. How did Dean put it? Worst is we’ll have packed too early,” Bobby says. “Except…”

“Except what?”

“Remember that excitable girl having a go at Dean at the fire?”

“Becky..."

Bobby nods. “As I understand it, she and her boyfriend are gone.”

“But they were a unit of three. Her or his mom, I think.”

“Exactly. So what does that tell you?”

Bobby rubs a hand over his face, sighing. Castiel gives a meaningful nod and senses Gadreel step up next to him.

“Is Claire asleep?”

With a sordid laugh, Castiel shakes his head. “She’s in our tent, if that’s what you mean. With Kaia and Patience. I think Kevin or Charlie joined to keep an eye on them, but I doubt any of them are asleep.”

“They can sense our unease.” Gadreel gives that soft smile, where his eyes vanish to slits, but his face goes back to its near-to-permanent serious setting. “Perhaps it is not a bad idea to take down the tent under cover of night.”

“Very well,” Bobby grunts as he gets to his feet. He slides the needle through the cloak and puts it in the basket. “Get some more hands involved.”

With the help of Ellen and Eileen, they get to work on loosening up the canvas. The majority of the camp has retreated into their tents, but those that are still awake take notice. Some follow suit. It is likely the cause for what follows next.

He has been hearing taunting yips and howls beyond the boundary and across the gathering for most of the day. These are closer than any others have been. In that mob mentality of ‘wandering aimlessly while making the most of this’ kind of way. When they veer closer to the camp, he knows instinctively it’s the wrong kind. He exchanges a look with Gadreel and Karen. Bobby, Eileen and Ellen are on the other side. Gadreel’s brow furrows while he keeps working. Karen shakes her head at him, but Castiel can’t ignore it. He isn’t wired for keeping his head down and not making eye contact.

So he glances over his shoulder to get eyes on their numbers and proximity. There are two groups, one parallel to them, the other further down. He can’t tell if they’re together or just happen to be giving into the same instinct at the same time. He inhales deeply, shoving his nose to the air, and picks up the scent of booze, smug satisfaction and entitlement. They didn’t bother with blockers. Alphas, each and every one of them. And he recognizes one of them the second they slip under the flags. He keeps his eyes on her… What was her name? April. She’s flanked by two women and a man, none of whom he recognizes.

“You Nomads leavin’ already?!” the smaller of the two women asks, voice cheerily high.

“Awww, come on, surely they wouldn’t!” the man laughs, as he lifts his torch higher. “The feast still needs to get started. You know, big bonfire!”

“Yeah, pay him your respects, since it’s his lands you’re traveling. Like such _free spirits_ …”

He steps even closer, gesturing wildly. He blinks unevenly and Castiel can smell the booze on him. Like he bathed in it.

“Hey, fire bug,” Castiel says. “Watch where you swing that torch. Before you set yourself on fire.”

The man laughs and dances around, waving the torch as if he’s going to drop it any second. Its lights catches on the maypole ribbons. Gadreel surges forward, shoulders hunched, but April steps into his path. Castiel follows closely behind and finds her splayed fingers on his chest. He stares down at her, face distorted in a mute snarl.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she smiles, as her eyes flick from Gadreel to Castiel. “Most unwise.”

“You’re not allowed behind the line,” Castiel says.

“Ha,” the man grins. “You’re only here by the grace of the former Alpha.”

And that’s when something shifts. Castiel breathes shallower, as the sour scent of resentment wafts around them.

“In a better world,” the taller woman says, while she sidles up to Eileen with a leer to her gaze, “You’d all be returned where you ran from. Ungrateful…”

Eileen signs an insult. “Speak for yourself,” she says.

“Or if all else fails,” the smaller woman adds, “Reclaimed.”

Fire Bug laughs unpleasantly, his eyes raking over Castiel in a way that turns his stomach and sets his hackles up. “Hell, maybe that can still be arranged.”

The cold he’s been fighting grips his heart tight. Castiel growls, as he pushes past April, an irritated rumble rising up from her chest. With satisfaction, Castiel sees the smaller woman and the man flinch in surprise as he stands to his full height. “How dare you walk into our camp and…”

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” Bobby comes forward to Castiel’s other side. “Look, no one’s lookin’ to pick a fight.”

“Who’s saying anything about a fight, old man? Your Omega’s misbehaving.”

Bobby talks over him, eyes hard. “He ain’t anyone’s Omega. And if you wanna vent about how unfair the world is, I’m sure you’ve got a momma somewhere who’s willin’ to listen.”

A few uneasy chuckles follow that, though Castiel isn’t sure who’s laughing. The man holds his torch closer towards them, squinting. “Why you gotta say stuff like that? ‘s Just rude coming from the likes of you.”

Bobby rolls his eyes and stands, legs wide, arms by his side. Castiel notices the dagger slipping from his sleeve and the axe tucked between his belt at his back. He steps closer so he can grab the weapon and feels Bobby lean in to _allow_ Castiel to do so, should the need arise.

“Aren’t you that former Hunter? John’s right hand?”

John’s name is spoken with contempt, even to Castiel’s ears.

“What’s it to ya, boy?” Bobby counters. “Just cause I’m out here don’t mean my blood changed. So if you drunken pups can just get back behind the line, that’d make it easier on everyone.”

April laughs, her focus fully on Bobby. “It’s funny how you think you have any right speaking to us that way.”

“You wanna talk rights, April? I remember you in your nappies. And you learned about this camp. You know you ain’t supposed to be here.”

“They’re just playing,” she says.

Bobby grimaces at that. The Fire Bug seems to have recovered from his initial scare and is walking dangerously close to the tent canvas.

“Are you done?” Castiel snaps at him.

He makes eye contact with Castiel, as he shifts his body, his arm extended at a strange angle. His eyes go wide and he gives a lop-sided grin. “With this torch? Yeah, sure.”

April snaps something at Fire Bug, but it’s too late. He lets go of the torch in a sweeping, mocking gesture. Castiel watches the arc of light. Not the tent. 

The sheer fabric of the maypole lights up like oil on water and the fire spreads in seconds. The torch lands at its base, the flames licking the wood greedily as they travel the wrapping. Fire Bug stumbles backwards, as if the sudden glare and heat take him by surprise as much as the rest of them. 

For the briefest moment Castiel considers grabbing Bobby’s axe to plant it in Fire Bug’s head. He clicks his tongue in deep frustration, knowing a dead tribal shifter will make everything infinitely worse. Instead Castiel rushes forward and hoists Fire Bug back by the scruff.

“Hey! Hands off, you filthy mud monkey!”

“Get him!”

“The fire! Get water!”

With a grunt, Castiel bodily swings him towards whoever’s yelling at him. Fire Bug collides with the smaller woman. Castiel bares his teeth in satisfaction when he hears the sound of something crunching and brings his fists up. Bobby yells for water and steps up with the dagger in hand, alongside a fuming Eileen, who grabs his axe. The taller woman draws her sword and the clang of steel on steel sounds loud.

April curses and helps them to their feet. The man cradles his arm, glaring at Castiel blearily.

“You fool,” April hisses, as she glances around. She pushes Fire Bug away from the fire and snarls at the others. “Enough! Move!”

The taller woman takes another jab at Eileen, who dances out of reach and elbows her in the face. She staggers, putting a hand to her mouth. “But…”

April draws her own sword and walks up, a hand out. “Stop! We can’t _be_ here.”

“You said it’d be fun.”

“Move,” she snarls again.

She pushes them ahead of her and glances back at the Wanderers, who are either holding their ground or running around to get water. Castiel wants to follow after them, but sees that the other group of shifters that was cat-calling also made their way into the camp. One of them joins April’s group as they make their way out towards the gathering. The others are splitting up and bothering the Wanderers, who are beginning to pour out of their tents.

Castiel feels the edges of his world close in on them as Wanderers and Tribals alike start to come together in the fiery confusion. Some of the burning ribbons are breaking apart and are carried away on the wind. Castiel watches as they land on the mess tent and a stack of firewood, and vanish between other tents.

“The fire!” he yells. “It’s going to spread!”

“On it!” Ellen calls out, as she starts moving towards the tent, while Gadreel goes for the fire wood.

He hears the small, familiar wails behind him. As he turns around, he sees Claire’s face lit up by the fire. Kaia is right behind her. “Claire! Girls! Back in the tent!” he yells.

“Dad!” Claire yells and he winces.

“Back inside!” he bellows, louder.

He sees her flinch and get pulled back by Kaia. Charlie and Kevin come running outside, ignoring his order. Castiel runs up to their water supply barrels and grabs a bucket, filling it, water sloshing over the side. The fire on the maypole is too high to extinguish.

“Cas! Help, we can’t get the canvas down!”

He looks towards Jo who joined her mom to help. The mess tent has caught fire and the canvas is too heavy. It’s heavy on a good day, when they have all the time in the world to handle it. They don’t.

“Charlie,” he says. “Take it!”

“I got it, I got it,” she nods, as she takes the bucket from him.

He runs up to Jo and Ellen, reaching over them to undo the knots and rips the side canvas down. “Gadreel!”

It takes four of them to get several beams out of the soil, but once the tent starts falling apart, the flames are within reach. Kevin pours a bucket over it as soon as he can. The fire sizzles and doesn’t immediately go out, so Charlie follows suit. For good measure, she stomps onto the canvas.

“Charlie, no,” Castiel snaps, seeing she’s on her bare feet. “Feet!”

“Oh, shit,” she curses and backs away. She cards her fingers through her hair, eyes wide within her pale face as she looks at the chaos around them. “What in the fresh hell is happening?”

“Eileen!”

Castiel glances over his shoulder as Sam comes running up. Eileen drops a piece of burning sheer fabric in one of the fire baskets, before moving towards Sam.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

She signs at him in reassurance, as he rubs some of the soot off her face. “I’m fine. Some dumb Tribals…”

“That’s a good question! Can someone explain to me what’s going on?”

They all look at the newcomer. A finely dressed shifter, flanked by four others. She gestures towards two of them. “You two, help put out the fire and restore order.”

“But, Mistress Anna, the pole…”

“Safeguard the camp,” she says, as her eyes trail upwards on the pole. “We will have to wait it out until it collapses. You two, go break up those scuffles and get every non-Wanderer back on the right side of the line. I don’t care if they’re Tribal or Elysian.”

“Anna, thank you,” Sam exhales. He squeezes Eileen to his side and looks at Anna unsurely.

Castiel signals to Gadreel to keep working on the tent, which he acknowledges with a curt nod. He gathers Bobby to him, as well as Karen and Ellen. Charlie and Kevin are running around, checking for fires and seem taken aback when Anna’s shifters pitch in, telling them off.

“Your tribals crossed the line,” Castiel says.

“Which tribals?” Anna asks, engaging him fully in the way she looks at him.

“April,” Castiel says at the same time Sam replies.

“She tried to stop me and my brother from coming here,” Sam adds, as he points to the darkened edge of the camp, caught in the flickering light of the fire.

Castiel’s gaze is drawn there, wondering where said brother is. There’s too much going on and Anna draws his attention back to her.

“So you weren’t here when this went down,” she says as she turns to Castiel. “Were you?”

Castiel nods. “Most of us were. We were taking down this tent. Her and her band crossed the boundary,” Castiel gestures towards the spot. “Drunk… Looking for trouble. There was another group…”

Anna nods as she looks around and back to the pole. “How did that happen?”

“One of them lit it. How else?” he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral and clearly failing.

Bobby walks up to them, wiping his hands on a damp piece of cloth. “They were a bit miffed about our presence here,” he says. “Sounds like you might want to check in with Azazel about this. ‘s His responsibility to keep his people safe now.”

“ _Lord_ Azazel will surely hear of this. Don’t worry,” Anna smiles curtly. She looks to her goons when two of them return. “Yes?”

“We put the other tribals out of the camp. Nothing bad happened. Just youthful shenanigans before the feast.”

“Nothing happened?” Sam snaps. “They put the maypole on fire. They crossed the boundary.”

“Look, if you lot ever want to truly blend with us again, you can’t keep hiding.” The shifter shrugs.

“Did you at least check who they were? Which pack they belonged to?” Castiel asks.

Anna lifts her hand. “Nomad, calm down. _We_ will handle the follow-up, where necessary. Our main concern is to get this fire under control and your camp back to peace. I am sure your cubs need their sleep, if you want to join the feast by midnight. Sam, you said Dean got held back?”

“Yeah,” Sam frowns as he looks back again. “And he’s not showing up. Him or his horse.”

And isn’t that terrifying… His heart constricts in his chest at those words.

“We’ll go look for him.” She gestures for her unit.

“I’ll join,” Sam says and falls into step next to her.

The dynamic is strained, but Sam seems familiar with her. Castiel heads for his tent. As soon as he pokes his head in, Claire is in his space and he picks her up, holding her close.

“Claire, you…”

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry!”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have said it.”

Castiel blinks and tries to hold onto her, as she squirms in his arms, rubbing her cheek to his. She is trembling. Realization sinks in slowly.

“It’s alright, my heart,” he says. “No harm done. Is everyone okay in here?”

“What’s happening?”

“A fire,” Castiel says truthfully. “But no one’s hurt and we have help now.”

“But who were those others?” Patience pipes up.

“Yeah,” Kaia adds as she grabs his hand. “Can you teach me to fight like you?”

Castiel bends through his knees so he’s at eye level with the cubs, putting Claire on his thigh. “Me first,” his daughter says.

He wants to tell them he doesn’t want them learning to fight, but in the wake of what just happened, it’s a lie.

“The others were… angry.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t always agree on everything and sometimes things go wrong because of it.”

“Were they Tribals coming to take us away?”

He runs his tongue along the ridge of his teeth, weighing the implications of his answer. “Some were Tribal, but I am not sure they wanted to take us away,” he admits. “But Bobby is Tribal. And so is Sam.”

“But they’re with us now,” Patience says, her face betraying confused intrigue.

“Exactly. It isn’t about which pack they are from, cubs, it’s about how they behave, remember?”

“Even Elysium?” Claire asks.

His gut tightens into knots as he looks at his daughter. Much too clever, he muses. “I… don’t know.”

He hears the familiar step of Sam returning. Against his will, his wolf circles away from the conversation and howls a soft question. Castiel trembles at the feeling, because it feels like it isn’t him. Like it’s a broken or lost part, he can’t tell for sure, and it irks him, as it spurs him to walk out of the tent with hope in his heart.

Sam is alone.

“Sam?” he says.

“He’s gone.”

The bottom drops out of his stomach, upsetting his insides severely. “What… do you mean?”

“There’s tracks of a fight. Baby’s hooves… Blood. I left him. Outnumbered.”

Sam scoffs, raking his hand through his hair, and he notices the tears in his hazel eyes. 

“I always believed… Dean can handle anything,” Sam says. Castiel’s heart lurches at the determined conviction in his voice and his own eagerness to believe Sam. “All I gotta do…”

Castiel feels Claire’s hand slip into his own as his skin goes cold. Like the blood drains out of him into the soil. He doesn’t want to feel any of this. And yet… His senses extend outward to the surroundings, wondering if Dean’s bleeding out somewhere, unconscious or… 

“All I gotta do is find him. We’re going out to find him.”

There is no question about it. The words practically fly out of him, taking a part of him with them as they do. “I… I’ll join.”

Sam looks surprised and lands scrutinizing eyes on him, which Castiel avoids. “Why? You don’t seem to like him much.”

“He… He stood up to April for us. Charlie and I. At The Fort,” he says, his speech clipped, because his mind is scattered. “And again to Elysium. It’s likely…”

The _reason_. He doesn’t finish his sentence and worries that Sam might catch on, but finds him smiling painfully. “Dean has a tendency to do that, yes, to his own detriment, it seems.”

“Sam…” He hesitates, unsure which belief he wishes to entertain as closer to the truth. “Is there any chance… any chance at all he’s with April?” His wolf snarls at him, so he tacks on a nuance. “That they took him?”

“I don’t know. Why would they? But we… I don’t _know._ I need to try… and find him.”

Castiel nods, uncertainty solidifying distantly within.

They search all night long. He and Eileen and Sam. Part of the night they shift, covering more ground on four legs. They howl, hoping it will cut through whatever state Dean is in. Castiel swears he can pick up Dean’s scent, but they don’t find him. He wishes he had more of a chance to learn his scent and as soon as the thought hits, he pushes it far from his mind.

John and Mary join in the search. It seems to confuse them that a seemingly random Nomad joins the search for their son, but he can sense that at least Mary appreciates it. John is harder to read and in a mood of his own. From what little he gleans from hearing Sam talk to them, Azazel is in fact abiding by the alliance with Elysium and not upsetting any major balances just yet. He also swears he has no idea what happened to Dean. No one calls April out on her actions.

Gadreel, Karen and Bobby hold down the camp. They set up their own guards. Take down all tents and sleep piled together in their bed rolls close to the fire. Dean’s crow escapes from Eileen’s grasp and they fail to get him back, which makes Castiel feel infinitely worse, as he remembers how fondly Dean spoke to the other bird. By the time morning rolls around, The Gathering is falling apart. They don’t see Anna again. No other incidents happen. In fact, it feels like they are given a wide berth, but for all the good it does them, they feel no safer.

They hold out a second day and search the forests again. With everyone else returned to their dens and travels, it leaves them uncomfortably exposed.

They wait another whole day, until Azazel orders them to move on.

The Nomads do so without Dean.


	11. Shiver The Whole Night Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fire. Shit. Shitshitshit. The fire.
> 
> The thought of fire sparks memories of it. Of its heat. He trembles. He nudges Munin up to his shoulder and pushes himself up against the rock. It’s a slow ascent, making sure his head is fine as he straightens to his full length. It isn’t really. His legs are shaking and he frowns down at his body, the realization sinking in slowly.
> 
> “Morrigan, no,” he hisses, as he sinks back to one knee. “Not now.”

When he comes back to himself, Dean’s head feels like someone is jabbing long, ice cold needles into his brain. He makes it infinitely worse when he instinctively opens his eyes and finds that is A Bad Idea. So he closes them again, a wheeze escaping him at the ocular onslaught. He holds still, eyes closed, his body firing pain signals at an increasing rate in a submerging kind of way. The hurt seems to be everywhere, radiating out from too many places to count.

Dean takes stock blindly. He wiggles his fingers and toes. Shifts his limbs, carefully, slowly, one by one, feeling for anything out of sorts. Beyond the obvious. Breathing hurts like a motherfucker. He winces when his left arm feels sprained. He attempts to roll his shoulders and lets out a barely there sound, instantly aware of the pain in his throat. And the first flash of memory hits, as he lifts his right hand to his throat. The skin hurts under the slightest touch.

April. Quick as a snake, he has to grant her that.

Anger boils within, quickly blending with a nauseating anxiety at the fate of those at the camp. He turns his head from side to side, light flashing against his eyelids, but settles on the idea that his bones are intact. His head may not be, but there’s nothing to be done about that. His mouth feels dry, as he tries to pry his tongue from the roof. He licks his lips, feeling they’re chapped. How long…?

He extends his senses outwards and becomes aware of sounds. Water trickling down into a puddle. The cushioned echo of wind through… caves? The scent of dank earth and rock. Moss beneath him and a warmth beside him.

“Baby,” he croaks out, when she moves.

Groans some more when the sound of his own broken voice registers. Her warm breath puffs into his face, which is a blessing, because despite the forgiving weather he feels chilly. Which is weird since from the inside out, he’s like a furnace. Fever…? He moves his right arm and drapes it over her muzzle, rubbing circles as much for his sake as hers. Next he becomes aware of a tiny weight on his chest.

He gives it another go to open his eyes and curses softly. On his chest, tucked in on himself, is…

“Munin,” he mutters.

It’s stupid, but his eyes well up at finding himself waking up covered by them. For a few blessed seconds, he stares from Baby to Munin and blinks the tears away. He smells something on Munin.

“What happened to you, buddy?”

He gingerly touches his crow on the head. Munin nibbles at his hand softly, as Dean spreads his wings wide, checking him for any damage. He seems fine, except for the distinct scent of fire on him. Of the three of them, Dean seems to be worst for wear. With a wince, he pushes himself up with his left arm, ignoring the pain shooting up his elbow like lightning to his shoulder. Munin flaps his wings and digs his talons into his leathers, clutching on, until Dean settles his back against the mossy rock formation. He glares around and blinks in wonder when he recognizes his surroundings.

It is one of his oldest nests. In fact, he realizes, it is the very first one he ever made. Well, found, as it’s belowground. The one as far away from The Bunker as he dared to go, with a filly Baby. There isn’t much left of what he built back then, but the nook remained. He can’t see the sky or the forest from here, which was the point back then. He tilts his head up.

“How the hell did you find your way back here?” he whispers.

They spent a lot of time here, but he hadn’t expected her to remember. Or Munin to find him. Though he has no idea when his crow managed to return to him. He winces at the light, even though it’s dimmed here, and forces his attention back to what happened. When it happened. He has no idea how long he’s been here. His mind lurches him back.

The fire. Shit. Shitshitshit. The _fire_.

The thought of fire sparks memories of it. Of its heat. He trembles. He nudges Munin up to his shoulder and pushes himself up against the rock. It’s a slow ascent, making sure his head is fine as he straightens to his full length. It isn’t really. His legs are shaking and he frowns down at his body, the realization sinking in slowly.

“ _Morrigan_ , no,” he hisses, while he sinks back to one knee. “Not now.”

He leans back and rolls his head against the cold stone, imploring her mutely. He needs to get back to them, even though he has trouble remembering everything right now. He knows they’re important. Unless he’s meant to remain alone, he thinks, when no answer from above is forthcoming. Breathing deeply a few times, his ribs hurt and he reaches out to Baby, rummaging through his bags. He finds a silver lining in the fact he packed her fully by happenstance before things went to shit. He doubles over when his body protests on a few levels at once and lets out a long, frustrated groan as desire blends with pain. He feels Munin’s talons cling to him stubbornly. His forehead touches the moss and it tickles his cheek, when he turns to the side. This time, Munin hops off of him.

“Fuck,” he whimpers as his body is flooded with desperate need.

He blinks blearily to chase away the tempting image that’s burning against his retinas. His insides feel like he’s being torn apart. He wants to let himself fall backwards into the flames he’s feeling inside. With a groan, he wills himself away from it. Ignores it with all he has. It’s sheer obstinacy that gets him to his feet. Baby rises with him and he’s grateful for her support. Dean foregoes clipping Munin to his wrist, trusting the crow to stay by his side. He adjusts his belt, securing his sword.

He starts making his way back to the world, meandering the narrow passageway that Baby took to get him to safety in reverse. His aching head makes it harder than he remembers and he has to backtrack a few times. Eventually they find their way out. Dean’s calmed when he emerges among trees wrapped in the softer colors of early dusk, a gentle breeze bringing a welcome cooling touch to his skin. He closes his eyes and inhales. Leaning against a tree, he relieves himself, grimacing at the intense scent. Munin caws at him in protest and flies to Baby.

He drinks a whole water skin in one go, panting hard after. With effort, he hoists himself into the saddle and gets out some of the cheese and sausage. For a few quiet moments, he resides in the saddle and eats. Slow and deliberate, because his body is in no way okay. For fucking starters, it hurts to swallow. And he doesn’t want to upchuck the food, because he snarfed it down like a wild pup. The effects are tangible, as his head clears considerably. The pain persists, but he feels better for having drunk and eaten. He nudges Baby to start walking, though he has no clue where he’s supposed to go. And it suddenly feels like he needs a destination. Or has one he can’t remember.

At the same time, it creates breathing room for his rut. He sighs, when that coiling need settles low in his gut, its needy snaps and crackles dancing up his spine. His dick twitches. Not with interest. Just the most basic form of need. His thoughts try to skip elsewhere, to a place warmed by blue flames, and he doubles down on his stubbornness. He needs to let this happen. He knows that much.

He focuses his attention on his whereabouts, seeking the stars above to find his bearings. Frowning, he realizes that the underground nest is much further from The Bunker than he gave his younger self credit for. He will need to return there to figure out what happened and where The Wanderers went.

Until then he decides to head for Bobby’s abandoned cabin not far from here. At least he hopes it is still abandoned, because what little distance he has travelled, Dean feels it in his bones. His energy drains out of him as he makes his way there, but finds it still empty. It’s been years.

Fatigue and desire fighting for the right to claim his body, he shoulders open the door and lets Baby wander inside. Munin pushes off his shoulder and glides towards the mantelshelf. He starts picking at an empty bowl.

_Basics_ , Dean tells himself. _Get your basics in order._

He drags the dusty blankets off the rickety bed in the backroom and throws them in a loose heap a few arm lengths away from the fireplace. He unsaddles Baby and apologizes for the lack of brushing. When he tries to get her to lie down on them, she snorts at him and wanders into the kitchen. A pang of pained arousal shoots through him, so he waves a hand at it and lets her rummage. He drops to his knees in front of the fireplace and throws some wood on. Panting throughout the process, which draws it out for what seems like forever, he gets a fire started. Next he rolls out his bed, as the fire grows.

Dean all but collapses on the blanket with a groan, his head spinning. He can tell it’s not going to be a regular rut, which, he guesses, shouldn’t be a surprise with the beating he took. Wincing as his bruised body gets ignited with need, he unclasps his belt and takes it off, sliding belt and sword under his pillow. He wiggles out of his clothes, discarding his boots, leathers and shirt, until he’s down to his pants. The pain is blending disturbingly well with the need coursing through him, which he shelves for a better braining day.

The fire burns hot and yet he feels infinitely warmer. He looks to the dancing flames. Dean sighs as he undoes the strings on his pants and gets his hand around his painfully hard dick. Visions encroach on him without mercy or warning. He wants to steer clear of them, but his instincts take over, the blending of pain and need too much for his mind to keep a handle on everything.

It takes but a handful of strokes, before he comes with _his_ name on his lips. Exhausted, he has the presence of mind to wrap the blanket around him before he blacks out.

Castiel steers the cart along the firmest part of the beach, leaving moderately deep trails behind. Charlie, Kaia and Patience are napping in the back of the cart, snuggled up in two blankets. He looks back, but the Sacred Site is long out of sight. With a click of his tongue, he redirects the horses, but it’s a sound of annoyance at himself, because he can’t stop looking back.

He’s not waiting to see the outline of Dean on his horse heading towards them.

Not at all.

So why does it hurt every time he isn’t there?

He grits his teeth, cursing the biology of their kind with enough fervor, Gadreel balks next to him. His eyebrow inches up in a mute question and he shakes his head with a sigh. “Don’t bother. It’s not worth the words.”

“Somehow I doubt it,” Gadreel says, “But suit yourself. Maybe apply blocker before you wake the nappers with that intense gust of angry frustration.”

“You’d think they’d be used to it?”

“Actually,” Gadreel sighs, “It’s gotten worse since the Gathering. Which I don’t blame you for.” His friend shrugs, plucking at his nails. “We’re all out of sorts and seeing them back…”

“Did they see you?”

“Oh, yeah. Michael made direct eye contact during the parlay. And smiled.” His jaw clenches, as he adds the afterthought. “Dick.”

A grim chuckle claws its way out and he flicks his tongue over his canines.

“How are you doing with… all that?”

“I’m surprised we are still here. All of us,” he says meaningfully as he seeks out Claire.

She’s scurrying up and down the beach, alternating between finding sea shells, throwing crabs back in the water, getting seagulls to interact with her and talking to whoever she feels like talking to. Today it seems Ellen has her interest. Even from this distance, he can tell Ellen is indulgently accepting of his daughter’s relentless curiosity.

“I can’t help but wonder how the Tribes would have responded if they tried to take you.”

“Zachariah tried.”

Gadreel’s face goes hard in a split second, his blue eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“When Azazel agreed to the Omega deal, he tried to ask for me. Lucifer wanted Sam.”

“What the…”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“So who stepped up?”

He snorts as he realizes he set himself up for this one. “Dean.”

Gadreel’s scent does something smug. “Oh, really?”

Castiel feels a need to divert the attention away from whatever his friend is coming up with. “Well, yes, they threatened to take his baby brother.”

“Of course. That must be it.”

“It is, I’m sure,” he bites.

“So they tried and then let it go? Just like that?”

“That’s what it looks like. They got what they came for and a deal with the new ruling Alpha.” He shrugs, unease swirling low in his gut.

“That in itself is unsettling enough.” He shrugs as he shakes his head, dismissing something, and looks him in the eye. “I wasn’t asking how you are in general… I meant, seeing…”

“I know what you meant, Dree. It’s alright. I’ll be alright. Not like you won’t be able to tell.”

Because he knows his nightmares are likely to get worse before they get better. Not that they ever let up, but he was doing better lately and Gadreel knows this. Being with the Nomads, finding some vague semblance of a home, eased some of the worst of it.

“It saddens me that this might trigger a setback.”

He gives a forgiving shrug. “I’m not sure if you can call it a setback if all I’ve been doing is shelving it for a later day.”

Gadreel leans drapes his arm over his back, the hand resting across his chest. Mirth in his usually serious eyes, Dree studies his face and prods at his cheek. “That’s unusually perceptive of you.”

He scrunches up his face as he leans to the side and palms his hand into Gadreel’s face, pushing him away. “Don’t do that. And just because I don’t talk about it much doesn’t mean I’m not fucking aware of my pitfalls.”

“Are you?” Gadreel asks, when he looks over his shoulder with a challenging smirk. “Why do you keep looking back?”

It’s a testament to how long they’ve known each other that he reacts to the snotty remark by shoving Gadreel in the shoulder, hard enough to almost topple him off the bench. Gadreel lets out a good-natured curse, snatching him by the collar in a threat to drag him along.

Castiel snickers, resisting with relative ease. “I’m too heavy, Dree, and you know it.”

“To Hell with you and your training,” Gadreel grunts through a grin. “Maybe if you keep looking over your shoulder, he’ll show up.”

“Shut up. I’m worried Elysium is on our tail.”

“Bobby’s got us.”

The timbre in his voice suggests he shares Castiel’s concerns. They both know how invisible Elysium can be if they so choose.

“It was quite the show they put on for their arrival,” Gadreel says.

“Exactly my point. It reeks of a distraction.”

“To us. Amara sounded… I wouldn’t say it was full disclosure, because it never is, but she was honest.”

He hums in agreement. “More honest than I’ve ever heard her, yes, I noticed.”

“Not sure if that is better or worse than the default of Zach.”

“This is giving me a headache the way it always has,” he sighs. “I’m so sick of their machinations. Why couldn’t they just stay behind their walls?”

“At least we saw them leave,” Gadreel says. “Maybe they have returned. Maybe this was it.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a while, unwilling to express doubt or hope either way.

He looks over his shoulder again. No Dean.

When Dean wakes up, he isn’t feeling much better. Which is why the invasive scents are a hair trigger. Dean knows he is no longer alone. For one pounding heartbeat, he listens and realizes they are not inside yet. He shoots up, ignoring the pain that courses through him and sits on his haunches, sword in hand. Lights dancing in front of his eyes, he rises slowly and tucks himself back in his friggin’ pants, tugging the strings tighter haphazardly. Whoever is here is outside the cabin. He must have made more noise than he thinks, when a voice floats his way from outside.

“You okay in there?”

His voice sounds hoarse when he replies and he swallows down the clot of blood and saliva that pooled during his sleep. “Fine!”

“It’s just… My brother heard you earlier…”

Dean rolls his eyes at the vague statement. “My rut hit bad. This cabin belongs to an old friend. Figured I’d use it.”

“No kidding. You reek, man, we wanted to check on you. See if you’re alright.”

He walks up to the window and looks through the grey curtains. There are three shifters in front of the cabin. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

“You alone in there?”

Dean hates how off his voice sounds. Weakness is the last thing he wants to betray right now. “What’s it to you?”

He hears a hushed conversation after that, but can’t make out any of the words when the ringing in his ears picks up. Shaking his head, he tries to make it stop.

“Hey, uh… We got help on offer, if you like.”

A soft mewl registers, which is quickly followed by the tallest of them hitting the one in the middle.

“For payment, of course.”

“I don’t need help,” Dean snarls louder, regretting it instantly when he tastes blood in the back of his throat.

He’s moving before he realizes it. Stepping out of the cabin, he reaches out with one arm in appeasement, while he holds his sword loosely by his side, hopefully obscured from sight by the angle.

“Look, I ain’t looking for company,” he croaks out. 

He stands tall, ignoring the tremble in his muscles. The tall, burly looks him over, a lop-sided grin forming at seeing the state Dean is in. “You sure? You look like you can use it.”

Disgusted by the arrogance, Dean chuckles lowly, letting some of his temper bleed through. “I’m sure I do.” He lets his face fall. “Keep walking.”

Against better judgment he takes a closer look, while he scents the air. Fear. Reluctance. Anger. The likeness between the two taller ones is obvious. Except for the middle one... The one that got hit. He’s shorter, his longer hair falling in front of a pair of watery, blue eyes. He’s stocky, but for all that, clearly at the mercy of the other two. Dean hangs his head when understanding dawns on him, the request for payment registering late in his sluggish brain.

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” he mutters. “You bastards are selling your sibling?”

“Caught on quick, this one,” the second one says.

“Half-sibling,” the burly one says, a touch of defiance in his voice. “Beta. So no worries about knocking him up either.”

“So you interested or not? 5 gold per go.”

His eyes flicking to the Beta, Dean’s stomach turns at the shame wafting off of him. He looks back to the burly piece of shit offering the deal.

“Betas can still get pregnant, you halfwit. In case the _bastards_ didn’t give it away, no, I’m fucking not.”

He scowls when the two exchange a look over the Beta’s head and shrug. They pull at their sibling’s arm to turn him around. The Beta lowers his eyes, but not before Dean catches the soft plea in them aimed at him across the small distance. Taking a few quick breaths to get his blood flowing, Dean steels himself for what he knows he has to do.

This is familiar territory. The split second decision comes naturally. “But I can’t let you leave with him either.”

A short bark of a laugh follows, when the tallest turns around with a completely different attitude. As he rises, Dean realizes he’s a lot burlier than he initially thought. Dean raises his eyebrows at him and scrapes his throat to land the order. “ _Let him go_.”

It takes all of one heartbeat to comprehend it doesn’t work. Dean reaches for his throat, clearing it and swallows the blood. His Voice is gone.

The taller one laughs and scoffs, his shoulders moving with the sentiment. “The way you’re looking, pal, you don’t get to give orders.”

Old school then. Dean grins, running his tongue over his teeth, some of the blood coming through, while he walks off the porch, the stumble not even an act. “Try me, you Alpha scum.”

“Alpha scum? You’re one. And I thought Alphas had more leeway in these lands…”

Before Dean can reply, he attacks. 

He’s quick on his feet, Dean thinks, when his opponent surges forward, right hook coming in at a high angle. Dean sways to his right and brings up his sword. It is almost too easy, the way the blade cleaves into his gut, his eyes staring at Dean in wild terror. 

Nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and imminent death, Dean snarls and twists it for good measure, before pushing the shifter to the side so he slides off the sword. With a gurgling sound, he hits the floor. His guts spill out partly and blood flows freely into the soil. The other one barely has the time to realize what happened to his brother, as Dean leaps up behind him and clamps a hand over his mouth. His arm protests painfully at the rough gesture. Dean slits his throat and watches the blood spatter onto the stunned Beta’s face.

As soon as they’re both bleeding out on the floor, the threat gone, Dean staggers towards the cabin. This has to be his worst rut yet, he thinks, when he hears footsteps running up behind him. He wheels around, sword up.

“Whoa! Don’t, handsome, you’re okay!” The Beta spreads his hands in submission, eyes wide.

“I am not,” Dean pants heavily. “Just… I…” His voice breaks and he grumbles in frustration, as his eyes land on the two bodies. He isn’t even sure they’re fully dead. It’s sinking in slowly, what he’s done and he cards a hand through his hair. “Sorry about your brothers. But… Fuck. I probably shouldn’t have…”

“Maybe not,” the Beta says, while he glances back with a peculiar look in his eyes, “But you did. And you look like someone used you as a melee practice dummy even before all this.”

Dean cocks his head to the side in disbelief. “Gee, thanks, man. I’m going through some things, okay? Speaking of… I don’t need a perfect stranger watching me jack myself off into oblivion.”

“I’m sure it’s a sight for sore eyes,” he grins.

Dean gapes, his brain having trouble processing everything that’s going on.

The Beta smiles gently and shrugs. “I mean, I can hunt you some food. Maybe take care of those wounds? When you’re not in a flare up…”

Dean puts his arm against the door frame for support, his breathing haggard. “Dude, don’t you have a home…”

“To return to without my two brothers?”

They look at each other in silence, trying to gauge one another. Both of them are scenting the air subtly, until Dean winces and turns around. “Fuck it. Come on.”

He flops down onto his bedroll, the air pushing out of him as he does so, and folds an arm over his eyes, still holding on to his sword. “What’s your name anyway?” he mumbles.

“Lee. Yours?”

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean, thanks for the help. Are you aware there’s a horse in the kitchen?”

Dean squints up from the floor, looking towards the kitchen. “Yeah… She’s mine. If you can convince her to lie down on those blankets over there, be my guest.”

“Uh-huh,” Lee says, voice suspicious while he turns away from Baby towards Dean, hands on his hips. “She looks like a trained war horse. I don’t think so.”

“You’re clever,” Dean says through a grimace. He adjusts himself so he’s fully on his back and puts the sword to the ground, blood dripping to the floor.

“Clever, perhaps. Not strong. Ironically, probably the only reason I’m still alive.”

Dean observes him with effort. He estimates they are about the same age. And he can only guess how long his brothers have been forcing him into these arrangements. Nor is he one of their Tribals, so he has no idea where they came from. He wonders if those are rude questions to ask so shortly after killing said brothers, but his cognitive skills are blasted to bits when his gut churns into something desperate and needy.

He groans and rolls onto his stomach, pinning Lee with a glare. “I’d appreciate it if you weren’t in here while I’m…”

Rolling his eyes, Lee snorts and Dean can’t help but smile at the Beta’s smooth behavior in the face of complete chaos. Like he was born to roll with the punches. The expression leaves a sour aftertaste.

“No worries. I’m gonna dig two shallow graves and hunt some food. Jack off all you want.”

“I appreciate it. You… are taking this exceptionally well,” Dean pants, while he presses his forehead to his crossed arms. His knees come up under him and he flusters, realizing the position he’s putting himself in, right in front of a stranger.

He hears Lee move towards him and glances up, panic clutching around his heart, but the words the Beta speaks near-to instantly ease his fears. “I know a lucky break when I see one. Mind if I use your sword?”

Dean exhales around a wide, cocky smile, his skin radiating heat. “Go ahead, man. I’m powerless right now.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” His eyes sparkle kindly when he grabs Dean’s sword and weighs it in his hand.

No experience handling weapons whatsoever, Dean thinks, but he loses his ability to speak with another roiling wave of desire washing over him. He groans deeply, as the flames lick at his nerves, and rolls his hips in search of something, someone who isn’t there. He’s usually okay with not knotting anyone during a rut, but fuck if that resignation is blown to bits with the visuals his erratic, feverish brain provides.

With quick footsteps, Lee leaves him to his overwhelming needs. Dean bites his lower lip to prevent himself from saying shit out loud. Like names. Well, a name. And what he’d want its owner to do to him. Or vice versa. 

Against all common sense.

Dean moans desperately, his hips coming off the bedding while he fucks up into his hand, wishing for all the world he was fucking something else entirely. Someone. He doesn’t know how often he’s climaxed since Lee joined the cabin. Hell, he isn’t even sure Lee hasn’t been around for some of those moments, but he hopes that’s just his confused mind at play. Because it’s been a mighty jumble of memories and impressions and feelings that has him wondering what’s real and what isn’t. He’s popped a knot several times. He forgot how frustrating that is without being buried balls deep in someone. The worst part however is his nose providing him with a crystal-clear and crisp impression of him. Of that moment on the beach. Which has come close to a dream sequence by now. And yet…

He can smell his own desperate need on the air.

Dean stops resisting some of the more tenacious material his brain provides him with during the worst of it. Surrenders to the flames, which are determinedly blue, no matter how often his fantasies start off by staring into the brightly lit and distinctly yellow fire in the hearth.

His abdomen trembles under the strain of yet another orgasm, when he comes, biting his lip to stifle himself into silence. There’s no more denying who he’s seeing in front of him. All the same… Guilt sneaks in on the heel of his pleasure and he squeezes his eyes shut, while he wipes the sweat off his forehead with his clean hand. Well. Clean. Relative concept at this stage. He needs to wash.

Dean rolls onto his side and sits up, allowing his breathing to return to normal before he stands. He tends to go from orgasm to sleep or activity, because he doesn’t want to relax and think. Which is a bad way to go through a rut, but he can’t afford to _think_. Not in a meandering, soul-searching, confusing kind of way anyway. His stomach growls. Simple things. That he can do. The scent of hot meat and vegetables registers and his thoughts skip to Lee.

For the most part Lee manages to stay out of Dean’s peripheral. He settles in the back bedroom and finds a balance with Baby when it comes to the shared space of the kitchen. As he stands, Dean notices that the blankets are gone. When he goes into the kitchen to check, Baby’s lying on them. Which doesn’t leave a lot of work space, but here they are. A cauldron of stew is bubbling softly over the fire. There are apples and nuts on the table. Munin’s picking at them. Lee’s nowhere to be seen.

He walks up to Baby and hands her one of the apples, keeping his palm flat until she’s chomped it down. Then helps Munin with the nuts. That’s when he notices his wounds have been tended. His arm is bandaged. When he sniffs at it, he picks up the scent of comfrey and arnica. It reminds him of all the times his Mom had to take care of him and Sam. The calming effect is instant and he experiences a sudden urge of gratitude towards Lee. Because overall he’s on the mend and he wouldn’t be if Lee hadn’t stayed with him.

Except for his throat. Whatever April did seems to need more time to heal than his bruises.

His head is clearer. His body’s calmed down. There may be one more surge, but nothing he can’t handle while traveling. Though he likely won’t be traveling alone anymore, he muses, as he watches Lee walk up to the cabin. He’s twirling the sword in his hand, almost dropping it to the ground. Dean tacks on the thought he should probably teach him how to handle it.

Either way, it means the pressure is back on.

Lee gingerly hands a piece of apple to Munin, who is sitting on his knee. “So you wanna go see your parents first, then track down your brother… Sam, was it?”

“And his Nomad pack, yeah,” Dean nods, while he heaps more food into his bowl.

He’s so hungry, he barely took the time to dry off decently. His hair’s up in wet spikes and he can feel it dripping down his temple and neck into his shirt. But he’s clean. His clothes are clean, which is down to Lee. Blockers applied. He’s starting to feel like himself again.

_And_ he has food. He walks back to his bedroll and folds his legs under him.

Evaluating everything Dean’s told him so far, Lee makes a mild face at him. “But from what I gather, shit went down because of whatisshitface… Azazel being elected as your new Alpha.”

“Or Elysium’s up to no good. I don’t really know what happened,” Dean repeats. He shovels food in his mouth. “All I know is some Tribals were being dicks and part of the Nomad camp was on fire.”

“The beating you took,” Lee says while he scrunches up his nose. “That was personal.”

Dean arches one eyebrow, the blurry memories of April flashing before his eyes. “It was.”

“So you’re saying it’s _not_ connected?”

“Oh, it’s connected,” Dean says. “I’m just not sure if what happened at the camp is random bad luck or…” He hesitates as he tries to find the right words. “Steered chaos.”

Lee grumps in surprise, his eyes widening for a moment. “Man, I’m starting to wish we never moved here.”

Dean narrows his eyes, finding genuine regret in Lee’s expression, because yes, that is most interesting timing. “Mh-hmm. Depends what made your pack move here.”

“Just my family.” Lee casts his eyes down and his face hardens. “From what you’ve seen of them, not the right reasons.”

He swallows, wincing lightly and grabs his mug of water. With a shrug of both shoulders, Lee soldiers on.

“If you think someone’s messing with your tribes though… Is it smart either way to go see your parents?”

Dean grins while he chews, both eyebrows going up in a moment of cynical self-awareness. “Not necessarily, but I wanna know if they’re okay and I need to head down that way anyway to find tracks of the Nomad pack.”

Lee jerks back when Munin caws at him and hops closer on his thigh with a snap of his beak. “Fucking…” 

Dean chuckles, as Lee hands over the last piece of apple and looks at him sceptically. “It’s been days. Most of the tracks will be gone.”

“I have no clue how long it’s been. Before I came here… I was out for a while.” Dean scowls at the empty bowl and decides to refill it, mainly because they likely won’t be having this kind of grub in the coming days. “All the more reason to get a move on.”

“Not at the rate you’re eating. Your war horse over there will throw you off.”

“ _Baby_ …” Dean points his spoon at Lee menacingly, when he mouths the name back at him with a twinkle to his eyes. “… Happens to love me. I’m still recovering. I _need_ this. This, which incidentally is awesome, so thanks for that.”

Munin flies to the mantel shelf and starts preening. Lee chortles and leans back, his hands clasped behind his head. It’s surprisingly easy for Dean to get along with him. For having met him only two days ago. Or three. Dean’s a bit sketchy on the details of the past week or so.

“Tit for tat, I suppose,” Lee says with a shrug.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean grimaces, ladling some more sauce out of the cauldron. “Two brothers versus a good stew. That sounds like a fair deal. Especially since you had to bury them on your own, while I was otherwise occupied.”

Again Lee shrugs and shoots him a grin. It’s a touch off, but nevertheless it’s there. “Strangely, a much more healing activity than one would expect.”

Dean scoffs a sordid laugh, as he licks the spoon clean. “What, mine or yours?”

Lee throws his head back, laughing. “The burial. Or both. Both’s good.”

It’s a revealing moment, in that Dean feels his stomach sink. “Yeah, see, this is why something needs to be done.”

“Excuse me?” Lee asks around a hiccup.

“You, so nonchalant about two brothers killed by a random Alpha in his rut. As wrong as they were in how they treated you, you know what I did ain’t exactly right either.”

“Perhaps, though I’m grateful you did. And to me, it makes sense.”

“I don’t want it to make sense,” Dean says, “I want it fixed. So what happened to you doesn’t happen anymore and I don’t need to go around slicing throats.”

“You and me both, my friend,” Lee replies, peering at Dean. “But who says it’s all on you?”

“That’s just it. For the longest time, I thought it was. I’ve been on my own for years, trying to fix stuff as I went.”

“No shit,” Lee mutters. “That was kinda obvious in the way you… Something about you just switched from day to night when you figured out what was going on.”

Dean frowns as he sets the bowl down, food temporarily forgotten. “Yeah, well… Alpha training for you. And I dunno, I’m a dumbass, or so I’ve been told.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Nothing,” he says, but he instinctively knows it’s a lie. He stutters. “I mean… Azazel, I guess. The fear that people like my brother and his mate will suffer. Hell, a lotta people. It’s just… I can fix the small things, right? I can kill a random jackass or convince them into sense, and hopefully make one person’s life better.”

He hesitates as he looks at Lee. “Though that seems to backfire too, because I basically orphaned you in the process.”

Lee throws the apple core he’s been holding onto at him. Dean squeezes one eye shut when it bounces off his forehead and he catches it in his palm before it hits the floor. “Nice aim.”

He bites into what remains of apple’s flesh, because clearly the Beta is a fussy eater.

“You don’t know,” Lee grins. “And you are a bit of a dumbass, if you insist on taking on the weight of every possible piece of misery in the world you come across.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let them walk away with you and continue their little business?”

“You could have. It wouldn’t have been your problem. It wasn’t your problem.”

“Only in theory,” Dean snorts.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because I’d know, wouldn’t I?”

For a few moments, Lee stares at him across the distance. He shakes his head as he leans his elbows on his arms. “At that rate, Dean, there’s no living to be done. No wonder you talk in your sleep.”

He… _What_?


	12. In The Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Macha’s breeches!” Dorothy curses as she steers Toto in a circle. “I lost it.”
> 
> Lee laughs mirthlessly behind her. “What did you expect? If these guys really are in as much constant danger as you say, they’re not going to leave obvious traces. And with Stabby Paranoia over there tracing back endlessly …”
> 
> “I am not paranoid,” Dean protests. “I just wanna make sure we’ve got nothing on our tail.”

In the end, he decides to err on the side of caution and does a fly by at The Bunker. Leaving Lee with Munin and Baby, Dean sneaks in under the cover of night, thanks to the knowledge only a cub having grown up there can have. He rushes through the bushes, skirting around the edges and finds that one top entrance he and Sam used. Once inside, he announces his presence with a soft, unique Winchester howl. His Mom comes barging out of the bedroom, a sheet wrapped messily around her.

“Dean!” she whispers as she pulls him into her arms.

Dean hugs her close, his heart hammering loudly and sees his father stumble out as well, hair on end. There’s a mark on his chest here and there that has Dean grinning from ear to ear.

“Glad to see you two haven’t missed me,” he quips.

His Mom clips him in the ear at that, her eyes full of intense emotion.

“Mary,” John chides her. Which is rich, all in all.

“It’s because of your stupidity, this.”

John raises his dark eyebrows mildly and makes a slight face.

“Your mother gets…” He clears his throat when Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, you do,” he says helplessly.

“I thought I lost a son,” she mutters. “Pardon me for needing to nest.”

“Mom, I get it,” Dean says, trying to placate his parents and cease their talk of coping needs. “But as you can see, I’m fine.”

His father lets out a displeased grunt and reaches out to Dean, nudging his chin up. “You don’t look fine at all. What the hell happened to your throat?”

“April.”

An impressively loud rumble emanates from his Mom’s chest. “I knew it,” she hisses. “She’s been awful cocky around us.”

“Is everyone alright here? How long have I been gone?”

His father looks like he wants to pull him in for a hug, but lands a hand in the back of his neck instead. His grip is harsh and he squeezes down as if to check Dean’s real. “Over a week. We scoured the forests for you for days. Where were you?”

“Underground,” Dean says. “An old… hide-out of mine. Baby took me there.”

“Where is she? Bring her into the stables.”

He shakes his head. “I ain’t staying. I need to find Sam.”

“Why?” his father asks.

“Because I’m pretty sure something’s not right.”

There’s hesitation in both of them, when they exchange a look as parents are wont to do. His father puts a hand in his hip and rubs his forehead, while she pulls the sheet closer to her, shifting her weight.

“You at least got time to take a seat and have a drink?”

“Sure, a quick nip,” he says, “Get me up to speed. I know it hasn’t been that long, but… How’s it been?”

“Deceptively normal.” His father gets out three clay mugs and pours a golden liquid in.

Dean pulls a mug closer and sniffs it, before taking a sip and looking at his parents.

“Elysium has returned behind their walls without so much as a hiccup. And as far as we can tell the Omegas who joined them did so of their own free will.”

“Who were they?”

“Two of the many inhabitants of our lands who offered themselves up… close to the Embers pack initially, but aligned with Azazel’s when he broke off.”

Something churns unpleasantly in his gut. He remembers seeing them and something about the memory irks him.

“… and we are back to our regular life. It’s as if the change from one Alpha to the next had no real impact,” she adds.

The words seem to be a relief and insult at the same time for his father, but he holds his tongue.

“Yeah, but you’re Tribal. Elysium has an alliance with you, which – even if they’re up to something – they gotta maintain, if for whatever reason they don’t want to drive this to a head. The same doesn’t go for the Nomads.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“What?”

“You’re talking as if you’re no longer one of us.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s cause I’ve got a Beta in tow whose brothers tried to sell him to me for 5 gold a fuck when they found me in my rut. And before The Gathering I buried an Omega who ran away from her rapist of an Alpha and got herself killed for it before I could get to her. On our lands, Dad. And I’m not even talking about the ones where I was unable to make a difference and rode on, knowing…”

“Dean…”

“No, come on,” Dean snaps. “I get that you can’t force change, but how much longer are we gonna pretend the problem isn’t right outside our door?”

He looks at them both expectantly, while his Mom signals him to lower his voice. Kate, Adam and Dorothy are asleep in their dens. He leans closer, briefly thinking he should talk to Doro as well.

“You can’t just keep sticking all our problems in a box every morning and ignore that box, just to be able to live a normal life and tinker away ever so slowly on the road of change, for fear of stepping on someone’s toes.”

“There’s a whole society built on the dynamic,” his father hisses. “You are right in your sentiment, but you can’t risk an all-out war, because that too will cost lives. And I can assure the price for the survivors is steep as well.”

Dean exhales through his nose roughly and chugs the whole drink in one go. “I didn’t come here for another political Ouroboros debate. Just wanted to see how you were doing, let you know I’m fine and get back on my way. So I’ma do just that.”

“Dean,” his father starts.

“They went East,” his Mom says as she folds a hand over his. “By the water.”

He looks to her, finding a gentle warmth reaching across the distance. “But before they left, they tried to find you. For days. Sam, Eileen and Castiel, we searched the woods together.”

Dean does a mental double-take and the booze seems to hit him hard. “Castiel?”

“Yes, at least I think that’s what his name was,” his father says.

“Tall, dark hair, pale coat? Bit of a _mood_ on him,” his Mom adds as an after-thought and Dean snorts a helpless laugh. “Pretty fur though.”

His father grunts gently.

_Fur_?

Oh, _by the three crones_ , they saw Cas in his wolf form.

Dean just stutters around sounds that aren’t close to words for a while, until his tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth. His parents are looking at him with mild concern, until they exchange a meaningful look and continue on, as if Dean’s brain didn’t just leak out of his ears.

“Azazel told them to leave our lands on the third day.”

“East,” Dean echoes, his voice breaking. “Okay. Okay, I can find east.”

“Won’t you at least stay the night?”

“I can’t,” Dean says. “Friend waiting outside, remember? And every day I wait, I risk not finding them.”

John sighs and rubs a hand through his hair. With a gruff sound, he eyes Dean and gives a curt nod, before returning to the bedroom. His Mom watches him go and hooks her arm through Dean’s. She gives him a significant look. “Talk to Bobby when you find them. He knows how to get word to me.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his gaze flicks to the bedroom door. She squeezes down on his arm harshly. “The less your father knows, the less he needs to lie. Though that perhaps has changed now that Azazel is in charge.”

“You and Bobby?”

“Do you honestly think your father’s right-hand man would just up and leave without so much as a look back? This pack… we are everything to each other, Dean, even as we move in different directions and among enemies. I thought I taught you boys that much.”

“So everything is not as peachy with Azazel as it seems?”

“Is it ever with that shifter,” she bites. “But it’s obscured. He seems to be behaving, but that only means we need to venture deeper into the shadows.”

“ _Morrigan’s Tits_ ,” Dean grumbles, his thoughts skipping to Charlie. “I’m starting to hope we’re seeing ghosts.”

“If it turns out that way, we’ll all be better for it. Until then, eyes open, ears perked and nose in the wind, sweetheart.”

“I know, Mom.” He smiles and leans into her when she kisses his cheek, marking him the way she did when they were cubs. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Cute,” she smiles.

“Is Dorothy in?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I think she, uhh… _bonded_ with one of the Nomads. They were out of sorts when they had to part ways.”

His Mom sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. “That explains a thing or two…”

“What do you mean?”

She tilts her head and pulls him along towards Dorothy’s den. She knocks on the door. “Dorothy?”

There’s an instant sound of sheets being shuffled around and feet padding closer. The door opens slowly to reveal a thoroughly disheveled looking Dorothy. The scent that meets them takes Dean aback and he coughs.

“Hellfire, you look and smell the worst, Doro.”

A surge of relief bursts through her scent. “You’re alive? You fuck! You scared the shit out of all of us.”

They step into a hug and he squeezes her close, breathing shallow, before holding her at arm’s length and taking a closer look. Her face is dangerously pale and everything about her screams a permanent lack of sleep.

“I’m fine,” Dean says. “What’s going on with you?”

Her voice sounds tight as she squeezes both hands down on his wrists. She scowls, though he isn’t sure at what. “Simple. I miss Charlie.”

He nods a few times, unsure what to say to that. Until the obvious hits. “Wanna come with?”

Her eyes light up as she puts her hands together eagerly. “You’re going to her?”

“Going to find all of them, yeah. You guys have some structure in place to keep you safe here. The Wanderers don’t. And barring two or three, none of them are soldiers.”

She looks from Dean to his Mom and he can feel her trembling. “Can I?”

“Oh, for the love of The Dagda,” his Mom huffs. “You do not need our permission to go to your mate, Dorothy. Go. Both of you.”

“But what if Azazel asks?”

“Shifters come and go often enough for various reasons… It’s each pack’s business. If he plans to make it his, it will be an interesting discussion.”

Dorothy brightens up considerably and starts running through her den. Dean can tell she’s overthinking her actions at regular intervals, but she packs quickly enough. She changes into her leathers and straps on her shortsword, bow and arrows.

“Just so you know,” Dean says, “We’ll be traveling with someone.”

Dorothy eyes him, a question in her eyes and Dean shrugs lightly. “Just two strays who found each other.”

“Ain’t it always,” she smiles wide. “Let’s get Toto so we can find Charlie.”

“ _Macha’s breeches_!” Dorothy curses as she steers Toto in a circle. “I lost it.”

Lee laughs mirthlessly behind her. “What did you expect? If these guys really are in as much constant danger as you say, they’re not going to leave obvious traces. And with Stabby Paranoia over there tracing back endlessly …”

“I am not paranoid,” Dean protests. “I just wanna make sure we’ve got nothing on our tail.”

He makes Baby do a circle and looks for Munin overhead, finding the speck of black against the blue skies. The weather’s been a blessing in more ways than one. They keep dry easily. Hunting is a smooth business, either in wolf shape or at the skilled hands of Dorothy and Dean. Lee proves a quick and eager study and leans heavily towards Dean’s fighting style.

“So are you satisfied yet?” Lee prods.

“Rarely,” Dean smirks over his shoulder. “Where did you lose the tracks?”

“Last one was near that rock formation shaped like a face. Didn’t you say they have a cart? How the fuck do you hide a cart?”

“Bobby’s real good at covering his tracks,” Dean says, while he steers Baby into a gentle trot towards Toto.

He peers at the soil. The sand. The shrubbery to their right. Looks ahead. He questions their choice to travel so close to the ocean, because it basically makes escape impossible on one side. Then his eyes catch on a set of carvings in a tree stump. He smiles. Bobby. Or Sam. Not even knowing Dean was still alive, they left the marks. There’s a time indication added and his heart leaps.

“There,” he says, pointing. “They went into the woods after all. And they’re not far.”

He whistles for Munin, who starts a slow descent until he settles down behind Dean on Baby’s saddle. Toto and Baby line up next to each other to make their way under the foliage. The trees are close together here, forcing them behind each other.

He slows Baby down, realizing they must have split up. There is no way the cart came through here and for a moment, he doubts his interpretation of the tracks, when suddenly he finds himself on a barely visible precipice.

“Whoa, back, back, the ground falls away!”

Baby bumps her rear into Toto, who whinnies, and both horses move around in annoyance. Munin caws and flaps his wings, but holds onto the saddle. The sound of an arrow whizzing past has Dean ducking his head. Dorothy curses and cocks an arrow on her bow in turn.

“Dorothy, don’t. Friendlies! Friendlies!” he barks, but his voice breaks and doesn’t carry.

Another arrow is released and hits him in the leg. He groans in anger, glaring up at the skies with a deep snarl, as he closes his fingers around the shaft. Dorothy yells out they’re friends. He hears a warbled cursing.

_“Dean?!”_ The voice is all too familiar.

He signs a confirmation, high in the air, with his free hand. He spreads his other hand against his thigh around the arrow head and slams his fist into the shaft, right behind it. It breaks clean, but the shock pushes some blood out and he winces.

“Sure, why not?” he mutters, looking down at his leg.

“What’s one more wound, right?” Lee says.

Cursing, Dean glances around and finds her in her sentinel spot further down on the precipice, overlooking the nook they carved out for themselves at the bottom. He sits up, signing at her with a bloodied hand as he speaks.

“Eileen, sweetheart! Your aim is on point.”

“You’re hilarious,” Dorothy snorts.

Eileen signs frantic apologies, but some of her sass leaks through. _“I’m sorry, but that’s the general idea!”_

“Shit, they’re good,” Lee says when he glances over the edge.

Dean does the same and it takes him a while to spot the camouflaged tents among the shrubbery. He smiles. “They are.”

The horses pick up on their excitement, while they make their way along the precipice. Eileen grips his hand hard, eyes oozing relief. They dismount when she leads them down the precarious path winding down, until they make it to the clearing. Dean lets go of Baby’s reins when he feels her tug at them, intent on making her own way. She trots on happily when the soil levels out and Munin takes off towards the tents immediately. Lee and Dorothy dismount Toto, the latter glancing around searchingly. Lee stays back.

Dean looks towards the camp.

There are three tents, set up close together and covered in branches and leaves, a smokeless fire burning in the small area between them. There’s barely a shifter scent in the air, as they’re clearly all wearing their blockers. Still, he inhales in search of the familiar. All around them are ferns and bushes, making walking a bit of a challenge, but that doesn’t stop something from making its way to him through those ferns at an alarming pace.

Dean is caught on the ferns when he sways backwards and his hurt leg give out a bit, when a ball of blonde hair and limbs and wide blue eyes pounces into his arms.

A loud laugh of surprise escapes him as he catches her.

“Claire!”

“You’re alive!” she squeals.

The next second she smacks him in the chest with both hands, her face twisting into an angry scowl, and wraps her arms around his neck.

“You’re giving me blowback, cub,” he winces while he folds her in his arms.

He catches sight of a familiar color palette of dark hair, pale coat and blue eyes, heading towards them. His heart leaps up in his throat. When he looks up, he finds Castiel staring at him, an equal amount of shock in his expression. For a second Castiel’s frame shakes, a fully body shiver wracking through him. There’s that ever-present frown, as if he’s annoyed or muddled or can’t make up his mind and settles on anger, but there’s a flavor to his voice that confuses Dean.

“Dean… You’re alive. _How_ are you alive?”

His mouth moves around nothing but air, because he doesn’t know what he’s picking up from Cas and has no idea what to say. Claire’s presence goes a way towards distracting him when she pushes her cheek to his and he pulls back, frowning down at her.

“Claire, don’t…”

“But…”

“Dean!”

Sam pushes past Castiel, breaking the moment, and hugs Dean, Claire mewling sweetly between them. Shifting his weight to his good leg, Dean puts her down, when she starts squirming. He subtly leans on Sam. She stays by his side, promptly sniffing at his leg wound.

“Fuck’s sake, little one,” he mutters at her behavior.

Tent flaps start opening up and familiar faces appear in various states of disbelief and worry, until it dawns on them what is happening. They slowly make their way towards each other, like raindrops trickling to the center of a spider web’s threads.

Relief floods him as one by one, they appear. Unharmed.

Karen and Jo. Ellen.

Charlie and Kevin.

Kaia.

Gadreel.

Bobby.

He worries for a second, but then Patience shows her face too.

“Dorothy!” Charlie exclaims, as she runs forward and nearly bowls the Alpha over.

Dean smiles as he looks at the pair. Eyebrows rising sky-high, Lee sidesteps the energy of them when they kiss, his eyes skittering over everyone with uncertainty.

“You’re a damned disaster pup!” Bobby barks, his voice breaking when he takes over from Sam and hugs Dean so close, it hurts.

“Ooff, Bobby, take it easy.”

“We looked for you!”

“You look like shit,” Sam grimaces.

“I know, I know,” Dean says.

He smiles at them and his core reaches out to all of them, then violently almost, searchingly elsewhere. To a presence on his right. Castiel.

It’s difficult to get a read on him with everyone else so close in his personal space. For all that, Castiel can’t seem to take his eyes off of him either. Dean blinks, unsure where to land his gaze and aware he needs to engage them.

“Mom and Dad told me, yeah.”

Sam’s whole body moves with eagerness. “You saw them? Are they alright?”

“Where else would I have found Dorothy?” He thumbs over his shoulder and glances twice at the sight of the thoroughly entwined shifters, leaning up against an accommodating Toto. “Well, that’s happening.”

“It is,” Jo grins wide.

“And who are you?” Karen asks, when she spots Lee.

“Lee,” he says, smiling, though his expression remains vigilant. “I, uhh… Dean and I met by fortune.”

Karen tucks her chin as she walks up to him and unobtrusively scents the air. With a sigh, Lee leans in and lets her step closer, as he continues. “Dean was in a cabin, going through his rut. My siblings…”

He frowns, his face contorting with discomfort. Dean’s face flushes at the memories of that first night, though he trusts Lee not to mention some of the specifics of his behavior. He tries to keep a handle on his swirling insides, because it’s a lot. Too much at once.

“My siblings tried to sell me to him for the duration. 5 gold a go,” Lee adds with a sour touch to his voice.

Dean _feels_ the moment Castiel’s gaze burns into him. He looks up to meet it, face hardening and he narrows his eyes when his vision narrows to him. Just him. The shift in Castiel’s body language divulges a lot more about him than Castiel would like Dean to know and it lands like a hideous slur.

Lee continues some of his story, but Dean isn’t listening anymore and he suspects Cas isn’t either, too busy jumping to conclusions.

Baring his teeth, he glares at him without restraint and juts his chin out.

“Go ahead,” he says lowly. “Ask.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rise when he stands taller and angles towards Dean. His sapphire eyes landing on Lee meaningfully, he holds his silence. Of course he does, so Dean nods once, his nostrils quivering in fury. He catches the sour whiff of judgement and disapproval and… disappointment?

“Your continued lack of faith in me is astounding, Cas.”

Castiel is visibly taken aback by the fact that Dean calls him out like this. So openly. Hell, Dean’s surprised at himself, and by now they have the attention of some of the others. Castiel looks around, visibly awkward, his eyes going wider, and then he frowns at Dean. His head jerks sideways in denial or annoyance.

“It’s not lack of faith…”

“Sure fucking looks like it.”

There’s a strained silence, where Cas is rubbing his fingers together again, as if it helps him to organize his mind or weigh his words. Grimacing, his lips setting in a tight line, he looks from Lee to Dean. He steps closer. Dean’s anger is diluted with confusion and wonder, when he sees the relief in those blue eyes, while suspicion lines his every gesture. He can make heads nor tails of it, and his wolf whines in frustration.

Until Castiel reaches out and his fingers butterfly over the bruised skin at Dean’s throat.

“Your throat,” he says, voice soft and low.

Dean’s response is immediate. Under the eyes of too many onlookers, his heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings in his throat, Dean dips his head back instinctually. There’s the briefest moment of revealing surrender before Castiel snatches his hand back. Dean drops his eyes and immediately looks back up and around, breathing a touch faster through his nose. 

“April,” he croaks as he rubs a hand over the sore spot. “She and her goons… They took me out.”

“That’s why you sound like that?” Sam asks.

Dean engages the conversation, because he can’t stand the way Charlie is grinning from ear to ear and Cas’ behavior is screwing with him. But in the bad way. Castiel steps back, averting his eyes, that familiar perma-frown returning and just like that he’s out of reach again. Unreadable. But not before Dean thinks he catches a glimpse of pain.

Dean looks to his brother.

“Bitch went straight for my throat.”

“She meant to kill you?”

“No, she… I don’t think so. But she was pissed off cause I told her to back off. At The Fort.”

“I keep telling you, it’s gonna get you killed,” Sam scoffs.

“Hilarious, Sam. Your stellarly amazing mate over there just shot an arrow in me.”

Sam frowns at Eileen in amusement and she shrugs sweetly.

Dean rolls his eyes, shaking some of the awkwardness off. “How’s everyone here?”

“Alive and kicking, as you can see. We were about to sit down for dinner. Come on.”

“Then we can take care of that leg too.”

_“I’ll help,”_ Eileen signs. _“I mean… I probably should.”_

“After food,” Dean grins, sinking into his limp with some more drama as he drapes an arm around her. “I’m starving. And I’ll handle it myself, no worries.”

Dean finds himself squished between her and Charlie on a fallen mossy tree trunk, as they gather around the fire.

“You reek, Bradbury.”

“I’m wearing blockers!”

“Yeah, well,” he scoffs, “Pretty sure she licked them off.”

Bobby shoves a plate of hot food at him and Dean begins to eat with his bare hands. He’s always loved food, but lately his appetite is impressive, even to his standards. He smiles between his knees, when Claire scoots up and parks herself at his feet with her own plate and starts to mimic him.

He doesn’t even bother to look at Castiel to see his reaction to _that_. He just winks at Claire.


	13. Never Be Unkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So why not go home?”
> 
> Dean snorts softly and the way he flicks his hand at the world, it’s like he’s tossing his own needs away. “I didn’t belong there either. Dad was all too happy running the show and I… needed a different kind of space.”
> 
> Castiel’s instincts flare up at the admission, because there’s something bleeding through the tone. Something of importance, but Dean doesn’t elaborate and Sam doesn’t ask. Either because he knows already or doesn’t want to pry. Which frustrates him to no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter, the next three chapter titles come from the song [Blue Skies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_hLIpY1v00) by Jaymay. Delicate sounds on her songs, which fit some of the emotional undercurrent for this story.

Eyes flying open wide, Castiel wakes from his dream with a voiceless cry. Its specifics evaporate in a mist as soon as he sits bolt upright, but a pair of red eyes follow him through the fog of night. He can see him skittering through the tent, movement erratic as if he blips in and out of reality. And shows up closer every time. Crowds into him. 

His broken face. The cruel smile. 

Castiel shivers when hands caress his skin against his will. He tries to escape from their grasp, but finds he can’t move. He is back there. Tied down. The pain is nothing compared to the whispered promises of what he’s going to do to him. To her.

And then he’s moving, his surroundings changing from that bed to that cage to those hallways. Endless twists and turns. On two legs. On all fours.

There is no end.

Until the abyss.

Sudden.

Inevitable.

Howling. Howling so distorted his ears hurt. The loud thudding of footsteps closing in. He collapses to his knees. Hears keening and crying. Of those lost. Of those at risk. Of those yet to fall victim.

He throws himself over the edge and never stops falling.

With a muffled cry, Castiel wakes up for real. He smells the scent of six people sleeping in one tent. He zones in on Claire’s. Finds Gadreel’s. His bedding sticks to his sweaty body. Fast, shallow breaths make his head swim, as he looks around to see if he woke anyone up. Claire, Kaia and Patience are curled up together, an occasional soft yip emanating from one of them. Kevin is curled up on his bedroll.

Gadreel, however, is awake. Cast in shadows, his expression is appropriately kind while he looks at him across the light of the small fire and sighs. Castiel sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees and rests his head on them.

“You haven’t had those in a while.”

“I know,” he mutters.

“What does it mean?”

He smiles ruefully while he looks up and cricks his neck. “Only that seeing them back has brought in its wake those shelved memories… I thought I’d been somewhat more successful at it though.”

At that Gadreel bestows him a disbelieving look and Castiel scoffs, though whether at himself or Gadreel or something else entirely, he isn’t sure. He closes his eyes, as he rakes both hands through his hair. Slow at first, then faster, when his frustration grows. Without another sound, he gets to his feet and steps out of the tent into the chill night air.

From the sounds of it everyone is deep in their sleep. Bobby and Karen have a curious way of snoring in harmony, which is adorable when it isn’t keeping him up. His eyes catch movement among the trees. For a heart-stopping moment, he fears he sees those red eyes. But it’s Charlie and Dorothy, in search of privacy, as ever. They don’t notice him and vanish among the trees.

He stares after them for a bit. Careless or carefree. He can’t make up his mind about whether to let them have their moment or go after them, because of what might happen. With his own disquiet lingering and a peculiar out-of-place sense of hope, he decides on the former. He takes a few deep breaths, eyes traveling up in search of what few stars he can see beyond the thick foliage. His attention is successfully diverted for a while as he wanders away from the tents. In the opposite direction of Charlie and Dorothy. Only to hear Sam’s voice float towards him.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I think I did,” Dean replies. “Not in so many words. No, wait, I remember I did, but guess what? No one believed me.”

“What? When?”

“When we were kids, man, I told you as soon as I found out.”

Sam huffs softly. “I guess I just thought you were being a jerk when you managed to get people to do what you wanted.”

“You mean like any good Alpha?”

Quiet as the wolf within, Castiel sidles up to a tree, leaning against it and, tilting his head forward, listens closer. 

“That’s what Dad made of it,” Sam says, irritated.

Dean hums gently.

“So you’re saying it’s broken?”

“Dude, I can barely raise my voice at someone, let alone project my will onto them. It hurts to talk.”

Castiel feels the blood drain from his face while he processes the words. His fingers dig into the tree bark. It seems Sam is doing a similar thing, as the brothers sit in silence.

“Dean… At The Gathering…”

Dean sighs in annoyance. “Yeah?”

“You could have forced dad. Hell, you could have forced the decision, every decision. Elysium… The Omegas…”

His thoughts are running a mile a second when he imagines the implications of Sam’s words and runs the filter over all that’s happened up to this moment. It takes a minute before Dean replies.

“You’re right, Sam. I could have.” 

Castiel can hear the weary indulgence in his tone, as if he’s trying to convey a message by the simple concession. He risks a peek around the tree and retreats slightly when he almost immediately catches sight of them, sitting side by side on a moss-covered rock.

Dean shifts, leaning a hand on his knee. “And then what? First dad. Then Azazel? April. Wait, who else? Elysium… Amara, Zachariah. That dick that asked to take you. Oh, Alastair! Then every fucking alpha or shifter in all our lands who doesn’t want to play nice with the rest of us. I’ll be doing nothing but telling people what to do.”

“It’s better than what we have.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

Dean stares at Sam as if that’ll make a difference. Castiel listens, a deep sense of wonder coming over him with every word Dean speaks.

“You do realise that what I can do literally strips someone of their free will, right? It isn’t emotional blackmail or politics or dirty manipulations, forcing you into something. It is pure and cold dominance.”

Sam’s face flickers with uncertainty. Castiel can almost see Dean go for the throat, while he leans into his brother.

“Yeah, I could tell you right now to go back to the tent and breed Eileen, to rape her even, in front of Charlie and Dorothy and you’d have no choice but to obey.”

Balking, Sam pales and Castiel isn’t far behind, his insides turning to ice, when he sees Dean rise to his feet.

“Is that the foundation you want for your change?”

Sam seems speechless.

“I don’t know how, Sam, but that voice,” he shakes his head jerkily as he wags his finger. “That ain’t it.” 

“Then why tell me?”

“I dunno, man. Maybe cause I was sick of being the only one who knew? Gets a bit lonely being your own conscience all the time.”

Sam’s face scrunches up in empathy. “All these years on your own… You mean you’ve… used it?”

The silence is louder than any answer Dean can give and it seems to last too long, because he tilts his head back, staring at the heavens.

“ _Morrigan help me_ , Sam…”

The despair clings to the back of Castiel's throat, invading him mercilessly, and he _feels_ Dean's distress at what he's done. It threatens to pull a whimper from him, but he bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself.

“No, Dean. Don’t apologize… I get it.”

“Do you?”

“That kind of power and your damned tendency to… Why in hell’s fire didn’t you stay with us when you found me?”

Dean grunts in disbelief. “You gotta ask?”

“Yes!”

Dean bends through his knees, arms moving in a desperate gesture, because Sam doesn’t understand. “Cause you needed _space_ , Sammy. After everything that happened, you didn’t need me hovering around you. You found a pack…”

“So why not go home?”

Dean snorts softly and the way he flicks his hand at the world, it’s like he’s tossing his own needs away. “I didn’t belong there either. Dad was all too happy running the show and I… needed a different kind of space.”

Castiel’s instincts flare up at the admission, because there’s something bleeding through the tone. Something of importance, but Dean doesn’t elaborate and Sam doesn’t ask. Either because he knows already or doesn’t want to pry. Which frustrates him to no end.

“Still,” Sam says, “It might be nice if you healed and were able to use it in, say, emergencies?” He tilts one shoulder up, lifting his hand when he says the last word uncertainly.

“Perhaps,” Dean admits. “Perhaps it’s broken.”

“How does it work?”

“Not sure… All I know is if I dip into the intent to control, it does. Sometimes it’s as if it’s spurred on by my Alpha… to make the difference in the way that costs the least amount of lives. Those two dicks that were ganging up on Cas?”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. 

“I used it on them to get them to stay on their knees. And again on April, though I may not have been fully in charge there. She…” He sucks his tongue, releasing an angry clicking sound. “She got me so riled up, I don’t know why. Maybe it isn’t the Alpha. Maybe it’s anger.”

“There’s plenty of that to go around.”

Dean rubs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess.”

Castiel closes his eyes, exponentially more fatigued than when he woke from his nightmare. He retreats quietly.

It takes him a while to fall asleep again and when he does, it’s only after the brothers have returned and Dean’s scent seeps through, like mist under the tent canvas.

Castiel closes his eyes as he leans his head back against the tree bark in a rare solitary moment. He likes to remove himself from the group on occasion. This time near the end of breakfast. They’re laughing and talking. Too loud, he feels, but you can’t stop life from being lived.

They’re too close together. Ironic, since they’re under the clear skies and in the forest, but somehow this set-up feels like it’s closing in on him. He is trying to recover from the impact of Dean’s return. How it affected him in that moment and how he revealed himself so brashly in front of everyone. The new information he’s picked up. How he continues to affect him. If he ever doubted that being close to Dean was dangerous, all this confirms it. 

So _of course_ Claire likes him. 

She always loved jumping in the deep end and Dean is very much that. The dark, swirling depths where you can’t see what’s below or above you. Where you have to trust. Yourself and the current. Castiel risks drowning, if he doesn’t keep his distance. Yet they always seem to find their way into each other’s space. 

Everyone is staying on top of their blockers with zeal as an added layer of camouflage. Which makes them run into each other unexpectedly. For all the space they have, there is never enough.

Wiping a thumb over his lower lip, Castiel narrows his eyes at his daughter eating like she’s two years old again. Even though Dean isn’t around to see it. She has been doing this ever since he returned, which says something about Dean. Something that should _annoy_ him more, but priorities. There’s stages to the shit he can get himself worked up over. Shades of exasperation and upset. A tumbling stomach, negating his appetite although he knows he needs to eat. A trickle of warm water traveling his spine. Subtle, but always there.

He observes the others around the fire. Kaia and Patience try to steal each other’s food, giggling and yipping up a storm. Eventually this dissolves into a howling game that echoes through the forest. Jo is sitting near the fire, reading one of Castiel’s books, reading bits out loud to the cubs and Gadreel. Sam, Eileen and Ellen are out hunting. Charlie and Dorothy are still in their tent, with Karen seeing to their basic needs. Because they basically tossed their skulls in the wake of their reunion. Bobby and Kevin are wandering around the camp, picking berries and talking. Gadreel spots Castiel across the distance, while he prods the fire, and gives him a nod.

Gadreel has caught on. They’ve known each other too long for him not to. He has taken to raising delicately judging eyebrows whenever he sees Castiel and Dean stumble around each other for the umpteenth time, but doesn’t say anything. Not yet anyway.

As a motley pack, they’re in a routine, but it doesn’t make sense anymore. They hunt. They cook. They sleep. They eat. Endless repeat. This little clearing is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since The Gathering.

They revisit everything that has happened. The Gathering, Elysium and Azazel, but in a purposeless kind of way. Like trying to hold onto sand by squeezing it. They visit nearby towns under Tribal cover, for trade and to check the pulse of life. Sometimes they land on life continuing like it has before. Sometimes they agree that something has changed, but no one seems to be able to quantify how exactly. Because it isn’t sudden. It’s subtle. It’s likely been there all the time. Clouded. Waiting.

They are also exceptionally good at avoidance, if they so choose. He wonders if this trend will continue.

Castiel huffs. He doesn’t have any answers, but he often looks around, wondering if Elysium is on his trail. On their trail. So he makes his rounds to check the perimeter. Runs some of his restlessness off in the process.

He slips around the tree and takes off his coat, shirt, hoses and boots. With care, he removes his sword and dagger, and tucks them between the gnarly roots. He jumps a few times, feeling the branches and acorns digging into his foot soles. As he does, he shakes his muscles loose. With three long strides, he bursts into his wolf form, landing on all fours. Leaning his front paws down, he stretches long and languid, spine popping softly, while he eases into this form.

He lets out one howl for Claire and Gadreel and takes off, bounding through the ferns.

Whether in human or wolf form, his mind feels like he’s running in endless circles on a frozen lake, boxed in by high cliffs on all sides, a thin sheet of ice separating him from the water. A cold wind pulls at him from all sides all the time and he has trouble seeing clearly. When he brings up the courage to look closer, there are shapes in the water. Following him from below. A flash of red. A glow of gold.

Tearing himself away from it, Castiel focuses his attention on the green of his rushing surroundings. His paws thud on the soft soil, sending jolts of vibration through him. It loosens some of the tension. What he sees draws him in far beyond the varying shades of the moss and leaves. The beauty of it speaks to him on levels nothing has in a long time, which takes him by staggering surprise and he stumbles for a moment.

He stops and looks around.

While he exhales the excess heat in rapid bursts, he shakes his fur, enjoying the way his muscles work in this body. How the world looks and smells different. He licks his muzzle a few times, tasting what’s on the air. He catches a whiff of that innate beauty of the world and squints his eyes shut, nose in the air. His tongue lolls out to the side, as he does the wolf equivalent of a smile and dives deeper into his instincts.

He chases the scent of beauty. Of the world.

A tricky practice since there are always new ones. He leaps across fallen trees, paws landing heavily in wet moss. Chases the scent of running water and drinks some. Plants in luscious bloom. The sweet scent of berries. The moist soil. The peaty smell of deep earth. The dampness of cave springs. The sunlight travels on the air and sticks to him. All enticing scents blending with one another, drowning each other out, washing over him, until he can briefly forget his humanity.

Or so he thinks.

He jumps down from a rock formation, following the scent of hot springs. The one scent meandering through all others eludes him until they run into each other.

Dean’s in the process of loosening the strings on his leather pants, his shirt already tossed aside, when Castiel lands with a heavy thud.

“By the seven specters of hell!” Dean barks as he stumbles backwards.

Dean winces when he sinks through his leg, but recovers quickly at the sight before him. He holds out both arms, palms towards Castiel, while he crouches low, eyes intensely focused on Castiel’s every move. His breath is coming fast and his scent is all over the place. For the briefest moment, he glances towards his weapons, but then pushes his nose into the air. Apple-green eyes wide, his whole demeanor changes as his gaze lands back on Castiel. His jaw falls slack and he licks his lips.

“Cas?”

His wolf immensely pleased at the reverence in his voice, Castiel puts one paw in front of the other, when he rises to his full height.

“Holy… You’re _massive_ ,” Dean says. “Ca… Can I?”

He moves a bare foot closer to Castiel, whose wolf takes the lead and parks its haunches without hesitation. Dean looks as surprised as Castiel feels. Castiel tries to push against it, but fails and watches what follows unfold. While he tugs his sagging pants up a bit, Dean exhales a surprised laugh and walks up to him. His face is nothing but open wonder and enthusiasm. Respectful, but fearless, he lifts his face towards Cas and reaches out.

It’s interesting to see Dean through these eyes. He’s beautiful by any standards. Castiel isn’t blind. But the wolf’s eyes bring something else to the fore. There’s an almost glaring light at Dean’s center, which moves and shimmers like it is filtered through deep, but crystal-clear water the shades of emerald. It threatens to draw him in and under.

His wolf’s heart thunders in his chest with too much human emotion.

When Dean’s hands are about to touch his fur, he pushes back harder and, under a whining protesting whimper from his wolf, forces himself back to his human form. Dean freezes in place, lips parted, his fingers inches from Castiel’s face. Castiel’s eyes fall to the blunt fingertips and the slight tremor in them. He would be a fool to deny his own shaky breathing and how Dean’s scent wraps around him seductively. For a blessed human moment, his eyes fall to the softness of his stomach, which his wolf would like to nudge his nose into, but he pries them back up. 

Dean holds his open expression, much to his surprise, but up close, it’s almost tender to watch. He lets out a whine and recoils. It is the smallest gesture in his shoulders, as he does so, but Dean’s face falls, a frown marring his forehead and he drops his hand to his side.

Castiel steps back minutely and catches Dean swaying into him, as his nostrils flare and his eyes fall shut. The painful churning in his chest he’s been running around with intensifies, when he feels something tug at his center and he can’t turn away.

“Stop,” Castiel mutters. “Please stop.”

“Do you even wear blockers?” Dean asks while those impossible green eyes open and seek him out.

“Yes.”

“Then why do I pick up your scent all the time?” His voice is nothing but a thick whisper and he remains _right there_. Castiel can count his freckles and watches him swallow hard. “All the damn time, Cas, when you’re around me, when you’re not around me.”

His chest constricts and he breathes shallower. Why does he ask so many questions, Castiel wonders. Why doesn’t he _know_? His silence provokes Dean similarly as it has done before.

“Cas… Come on… You don’t smell this? Feel this?”

He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in weary agony. “Stop trying to tell me what to feel.”

“I’m not telling you what to feel, you stubborn old…”

They glare daggers at each other, when Dean cuts off the insult. There’s a glint of something wicked in his eyes, but it fades out in favor of anger.

“If you could get your head out of your moody ass for a few seconds, if you’d just lean into it you’d feel I’m not _telling_ you jackshit.”

He squares his shoulders at the first words, scowling at Dean. “There’s nothing to lean into…”

A shiver wracks through Dean’s frame at the denial. There’s such strength in the way he squares his shoulders against it and draws Castiel in with his plea.

“I’m _asking_ you. Asking, Cas. No voice. No Alpha-tude.”

Despite himself, Castiel smiles softly at the use of the last word. Somehow he believes the tongue-in-cheek vibe it carries when Dean uses it. It’s short-lived. He rubs his forehead, the muscles tense and painful under his fingertips. He’s been frowning and thinking too much. There’s a similar persistent ache between his shoulders, which runs deeper than muscles.

Then it sinks in and he looks at Dean. He wonders if he meant to bring up his voice, but realizes he isn’t aware Castiel overheard him and Sam a few days ago. Since then, the concept of it has occupied Castiel sufficiently to draw it out in the open, although he knows it’s a risk.

He rolls his shoulders back. “I’d highly recommend not using it anymore. Not on me, not on anyone.”

Dean blanches and straightens up, his body shifting to a defensive stance. Castiel breathes out slowly, as he looks to the skies and puts his hands in his hips.

“I heard you and Sam… talking about it. And it lines up with what I saw happen at The Fort.” He waves a hand at the memory of April’s mute fury.

“Oh,” Dean stutters. He recovers rapidly and inclines his head in enthralled curiosity at Castiel. “But then I thought you… of all people would want the same.”

Castiel shoots him a curt smile, when he shakes his head. “You’d think so… but no.”

Dean eyes him warily, but then it shifts into an eagerness, as if he wants to share it, now that he knows Castiel knows, almost like he can’t help himself.

“But I have,” Dean grimaces. “Used it in the past. A lot even. Tried to use it to get Lee’s siblings to back off so I wouldn’t have to…”

He falters and licks his lips, frowning as he looks away and obviously remembers. With a terse shake of his head, he dismisses whatever has his attention. 

“I’d like to say it was always for a good reason in a volatile situation… and I suppose it might have been, but it never sat right with me afterwards.”

Castiel gives a slow nod, while he processes what Dean is trying to convey.

“I can see the appeal of it, and I imagine you saved a lot of people because of it, but you were right. What you said to Sam.”

“It’s broken anyway now, so,” Dean says with a shrug. “No need to worry I’ll force anyone into anything.”

Dean frowns as he casts his eyes down, almost like he’s injured, but Castiel can’t be sure. His own feelings are too erratic to distinguish aptly between the scents he’s picking up. The conversation, as strange as it is, seems to have a soothing effect on them.

Castiel exhales slowly, thinking he should probably leave.

He doesn’t.

Which makes it all the more awkward for both of them when Dean’s face scrunches up. He is evaluating Castiel with every gaze, though, like a good pup, not scenting him. From the sounds of it, he doesn’t really have to… and Castiel finds that Dean’s scent sticks to him. He still refuses to define each element that clings to his senses.

A jolt of curiosity spikes through him, which he knows isn’t his own.

“Hey, uhh, question…” Dean says with pursed lips. There’s a twinkle to his eyes that’s all too charming.

Castiel arches a gentle eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

“How come you’re not naked?”

Eyebrows flying up to his hairline, Castiel’s lips part while he turns towards Dean, but doesn’t quite look at him. Surely he’s doing an excellent imitation of a fish when he works his way through the question. “Wh… What? Excuse me?”

For a second Dean looks like he wants to make a joke, but thinks better of it and Castiel finds himself curious for what that joke would have been.

“Yeah,” Dean grins and winks at him, visibly amused by Castiel’s reponse. “You shifted from wolf to human. Usually we’re buck-ass naked when that happens.”

Castiel lets out a genuine chuckle at that, feeling his insides warm up, despite his best efforts. “A trick from the homeland.”

“Damn nifty trick.” Dean sighs at him in mild frustration. “Not evasive at all either, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”

He doesn’t quite say it, but the implication that he’s aware Castiel derailed their earlier conversation is not lost on him. Castiel wipes his hands, becoming aware of the dirt on them, and frowns when the next words make it out of his mouth, unsure which part of him is responsible for the stellar idea.

He suspects it’s his wolf, who’s taken to trotting in content, lazy circles around this moment.

“I can teach you, if you like.”

Dean huffs a soft smile, but there’s a touch of a barb to his tone. “Can you now?”

Against better judgment, Castiel looks at him, feeling some resistance go out of him at the hopeful expression in his face, despite the recalcitrant tone. There’s a delicate uptick in Dean’s eyebrow that works wonders. “Yes, Dean, I can.”

They stand in an awkward silence for a while, until Castiel frowns and clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to your bath.”

“Yeah, uhh, that’s… Sure.”

In one of his quickest shifts yet, he lands on all four paws before he takes off running. He doesn’t look back. A whiff of something profound and passionate follows him through the forest, all the way back to the tree where he left his clothes and weapons. He takes a detour, pushing his wolf form to its top speed to rid himself of the restlessness.

And perhaps try to get him back in line.


	14. Too In Step With The Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anything out there?” Gadreel asks as he walks up to him upon return. “You were gone for a while.”
> 
> “Not a soul,” Castiel says without so much as blinking.
> 
> Gadreel schools his features. “Good, because one turned up at the camp.”

“Anything out there?” Gadreel asks as he walks up to him upon return. “You were gone for a while.”

“Not a soul,” Castiel says without so much as blinking.

Gadreel schools his features. “Good, because one turned up at the camp.”

Rapids. He’s in rapids.

Castiel sighs, while he rolls his eyes and his voice is tight when he speaks. “What is it _now_?”

“A visitor.”

Castiel frowns at Gadreel, as he tries to get his breathing back under control. Gadreel presses his lips into a tight line and exhales through his nose with a shrug, when he offers him a wet towel. He takes it and wipes down his hands and feet. Castiel shakes his head, little branches and leaves falling out, so he runs his hands through for good measure.

“There are springs close by that you can wash up in, you know.”

Castiel feels his shoulders sag momentarily.

“I forgot to stop while on my run,” he says, squinting. “I’ll go back later.”

He shakes out his coat and puts it on. Leaning into the tree, he tugs on his hoses. While he slips into his boots, he eyes the camp.

“Where?”

Gadreel gestures towards the top of the precipice and as he glances up, he sees Bobby and Eileen walking down flanking a third. Everyone else is near the tents or walking towards them curiously.

Castiel smells Dean, before he shows up. His hair is standing up in wet spikes, a towel still draped in his neck. A swirl of Gadreel’s sass wafts around him.

“Just don’t.”

“It’s his funeral,” Gadreel says, tone clipped.

Castiel wants to react, because it places one too many responsibilities squarely on his shoulders Gadreel has no right to, but then he recognizes the newcomer.

“The hell is _she_ doing here?” he hears Dean say to his right, as he walks over to him and Gadreel.

“Meg,” Castiel mutters. “How did she find us?”

“’s What I’d like to know,” Dean nods.

“Maybe she followed you,” Gadreel offers, without looking at Dean.

Dean just snorts and starts walking, visibly forcing himself to ignore his leg. “Not bloody likely.”

Gadreel chuckles when he and Castiel fall in step behind him.

Castiel leans into him, voice low. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s what you were thinking, right?” Gadreel grins. “Figure you don’t always need to be the one antagonizing him.”

“I am not trying to…” He swallows the rest of the lie, when they gather round Meg.

“How the hell did you find us?” Bobby asks.

Meg raises her thin eyebrows at him, her gestures slow and collected. Castiel takes stock of her state of being. She looks sufficiently travel-weary, while she clicks her tongue and smiles at Bobby.

“Darling, you can’t be using messaging crystals and not expect one like myself to pick up on those remnants.”

Bobby scrunches up his face, puckering his lips so hard his beard stands out like a hedgehog.

“We have no witches here,” Karen hisses.

“Witch, warlock, mage. Magic can be used by anyone really,” Meg says with a wave of her hand. She pricks a finger at one of them with every next word, her tone lilting up. “And one of you has.”

“Say one of us has,” Dean says as he steps forward. “Why follow the trail?”

“To warn you, of course,” Meg smiles.

Castiel’s keeping an eye on her throughout the exchange. Though she’s cockier than when he met her, there is a weariness to her stance, even if she’s trying to hide it. She’s observing everyone with keen eyes, her expression shifting to that typical overly neutral stance when she catches Castiel looking at her.

“Elaborate then,” Castiel orders.

Meg seems to lose patience at this point and she rolls her eyes. “Rowena may have set me on your path.”

“Rowena? Why?”

She scoffs, raising both hands impatiently. “Something she read in her cards. Or the stars, who knows. All I know is it set me on my course.”

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Castiel says. “Why?”

“Because I left my pack. Why else? Isn’t that what you do? How you came about? You take in strays.”

“You’re Azazel’s _daughter_ ,” Dean bites, which takes Castiel aback. “I’d be hard-pressed to call you a stray.”

A heavy swirl of desperation wafting off her, Meg takes off her overcoat and starts rolling up her sleeves, revealing rows upon rows of scars. “You see these, Dean? This happened while your dad was in charge. Under _his_ care.”

Dean opens his mouth and snaps it shut with an audible click, his jaw clenching.

“What do you think will happen to me now that he’s not in charge?”

Castiel reaches out to her unconsciously. He has no intention of touching her, wouldn’t dream of crossing that line, but his eyes are stuck to her scars, because they are familiar. And they _really_ shouldn’t be…

“Who did that?” he asks.

“I…” Meg chews her lip and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“ _What do you mean, you don’t know?_ ” Eileen asks, her eyes wide.

“I don’t remember who. All I remember is… waking up with them. Time and again.”

Bobby grunts and looks at Castiel, when they seem to come to a similar conclusion. “Balls. Well, you’re here now. How about we sit down and talk this through.”

They start moving towards the fire pit, when Dean grabs Cas by the arm, halting the caravan of people.

“Hey, Cas, where is the cart?”

Castiel is a bit confused why Dean addresses him out of all of them. Usually Bobby makes the calls, but he engages Dean, finding himself following the trail of thought all too easily.

“We left it hidden when we couldn’t get through anymore and we’ve been checking in on it daily. You want to get another tent?”

Dean winks at him. “Read my mind. It’s going to get crowded if we don’t, right?”

“Good idea!” Charlie says. “We’ll go get the spare one. The little one. Maybe… _we_ can take that one and someone else takes our… newcomer?”

Dean laughs. “If I wasn’t entirely convinced you were angling to get your own tent with Dorothy here, I’d say that’s a splendid idea.”

Charlie blushes, but beams brightly. “But it is! Admit.”

Castiel shakes his head, but he agrees. He wants Meg away from the cubs. “It is. We’ll rearrange logically,” he adds meaningfully.

“We’ll help set it up,” Jo nods at him. “And we can figure out the rearrangements.”

Jo joins Charlie and Dorothy into the forest. Ellen squints up at the precipice in suspicion and she nudges Bobby. “I am going back up there. Keep watch.”

Bobby nods. “Good idea. Who knows what she brings in her wake…”

She grabs her bow and arrows before heading up the meandering path. Castiel’s eyes fall to Claire, whose wide, eager eyes bounce from shifter to shifter. People seem to be ahead of him today.

“I’ll take the cubs for a run,” Kevin says.

“Not too far,” Dean and Cas say in unison. They briefly lock eyes at that.

Kevin gives them such a look, Castiel flusters, and as the young shifter shakes his head, he rounds up the three girls. “Sure thing, _dads_.”

Castiel frowns at him, non-plussed.

“And not on your own,” Karen says. “Not now.”

She shoots Meg a glare and joins Kevin and the cubs. Castiel starts walking towards the fire pit, sensing the others fall into step behind him. They settle down on the various rocks and tree trunk stools.

“My, such a warm welcome,” Meg smiles, while she watches the tiny exodus happen. “So are we down to the ones who will stop pretending they don’t know about the crystals?”

She looks meaningfully towards both Winchesters. Rummaging in the fruit basket, Dean picks one of the older apples and plucks a knife out of his boot. He halves it cleanly and cuts off thin slices. Castiel’s attention is briefly diverted, when he lays each slice on his tongue and works it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

How he can eat at a time like this, Castiel doesn’t understand.

“Oh, you’re not,” Lee says, folding his hands together. “I don’t know a damn thing about any crystals. But maybe you should start talkin’ first.”

“Since you’re the one intruding on our pack,” Gadreel says, expression dead-pan, as he leans forward.

Meg bares her teeth at them. “And who in the hell are you two?”

“ _Ours_. Strays, like you said, right?” Dean intercepts her aggression with a tight smile, eyes hard. There’s something about the way he says ‘ _ours_ ’ that takes some of the air out of his lungs.

Sam snaps his fingers at her. “You show up out of nowhere. Talk. What is going on?”

Castiel takes the moment to study Meg. Glaring at Gadreel and Lee, she rolls her sleeves back down. But even without her scars on display she looks gaunt and he wonders if he missed it when he first met her, because it doesn’t look recent.

“We…” Meg starts and shakes her head angrily. “Something’s not right. It hasn’t been in a while, but it’s gotten worse since The Gathering.”

She grimaces and rubs at her temples. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she plants her feet wide and tilts her head, visibly confused. “I… We were being sent out in small units of two or three. Spread the word of the new Alpha. Feel out the response. Report back in case of… problems.”

“Such as?” Dean prods.

“Not what you’re thinking,” she says, wincing as she reaches for her ribs. “Go into towns and settlements. Chat. Ease concerns about Elysium, if there are any. Patrol the border. Check in with needs and just… put our ear to the ground. It’s how I noticed… the disappearances.”

Bobby stills noticeably, focused intently on Meg and anything she might give away.

“Dis… Disappearances?” Sam echoes, while he looks from Bobby to Dean to him.

“Missing shifters. It looks like nothing, because we like to say shifters run away, right? Move on, move elsewhere.”

“Because they often do,” Bobby nods.

“But then they usually show up somewhere else,” Dean says on a disparaging sneer. There is an interesting undercurrent seeping through his scent. “Except if they don’t.”

“Except if they don’t,” Meg nods. “I can’t connect the dots. Not fully. There’s too many living in our lands and no one keeps track. We _know_ your pack exists, which is one way of keeping track of you. But the others packs out there, the individuals… the star-crossed lovers, the run-aways... there is no telling.”

Castiel exchanges a look with Gadreel, and leans into the conversation. “You’ve been keeping track of us?”

“Only on the fringes, as far as I can tell,” she replies. “You’re annoyingly difficult to track… Rowena’s the only reason I found you. That and your magic user, who won’t show themselves.”

“We know,” Dean says, as he gestures at Meg with his knife. “We just don’t need you to know who it is.”

His gut and wolf telling him it is a lie, Castiel is deeply intrigued by the smooth deception and the way Dean’s whole body moves within it. Like water finding its way to wherever it wants to go.

“I need to understand,” Dean says, tone suddenly harsher. “You don’t know who did that to you… and you’re implying shifters have been… what? Vanishing into thin air? Why wasn’t this brought to our dad, while he was still in charge?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to listen,” Meg bites. “I don’t know… Maybe he knew and didn’t care.”

“That’s a lie,” Sam snaps. He looks surprised at his own fervor.

Meg sneers dismissively. “Either way, your clan fucked up royally. Cause you two were no use either.”

“No,” Dean barks, his voice breaking. He grimaces in frustration, when Meg chuckles darkly at his pain. “You don’t get to track us down on the word of a witch, ask for shelter and tell us we fucked up, when it’s your dad who let whatever the hell _that_ was happen to you!”

He gestures at her arms. Meg snarls and rises to her feet, looming over them. Dean glares up at her, looking like he’s about to grab her by the scruff to park her ass back down.

“I don’t know what is going on, alright!”

There’s fire in her eyes, but the fear on her becomes palpable for everyone present. Quick as a wisp, she walks away. For a second, it looks like she might leave, but she gets a canister out of one of her pouches and rubs her wrists and neck fervently.

Castiel frowns when he watches her shake a few pills into her hand from another canister and hears her teeth grinding them to pieces. She stands with her eyes closed for a while, face tilted to the trees. He looks to the others and finds various shades of confusion and apprehension in their expressions. Casting an intense look at Meg, Castiel gleans that she may have a serious flair for the caustically dramatic.

“I have no idea what is going on,” Meg repeats. “All I know is I don’t remember how I got these scars and… I ran from my last assignment.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” she bites. “Something isn’t right. And I’m trying to remember, but I can’t.” Her voice breaks on a sob, which makes her visibly angrier. She crosses her arms. “You know as much as I do.”

“That’s just great,” Dean sighs, while he looks at Sam. “So now we get Azazel’s daughter as a free prize.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing free about me, Dean.”

Bobby sighs. “If you’re downright lookin’ fer safety, it’s alright to say so. I was there when you grew up.”

“Charmed. I am what you might call, no pun intended, a bit of a lone wolf,” she smiles.

“Then by all means,” Castiel says, “Leave.”

He does _not_ like the way she looks at him. “My, my, handsome, Rowena was laying cards for you when I went to see her.”

Too much attention is on him, like ants crawling under his skin. He resists the urge to walk away and holds her gaze, ignoring everyone else.

“They put you at the center of a lotta things. What’s it like to be so far from home?”

Oh, he doesn’t like that either.

Neither does Gadreel.

“My home is where I am,” Castiel says, smiling distantly at her. “But perhaps you’d like to explain why you’re so determined on riling us up when you’ve all but admitted you would like to stay with us.”

“It’s part of my natural charm,” she winks. “Much like you, clearly.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and lets out a dismissive snort. He looks to the edge of their overgrown patch in the woods, where Charlie, Dorothy and Jo return, lugging a tent on their shoulders. And just like that, his priorities shift. “I believe this conversation has run its course.”

“Do you now?” Meg smirks. “But there’s so much more I might know.”

“I actually doubt you do. Your fear is all over the place and masks exactly nothing,” he says, while he gets up, wiping his hands on his thighs. “But I’d rather spend my energy on them. There’s been entirely too much talking going on lately and none of it has made a difference.”

With that, he gives the endeavor a dismissive hand gesture and walks towards the young shifters. Charlie beams a smile at him, though her eyes betray worry when she glances to the shifters around the fire pit.

“How is it going?” she asks.

“About as good as you can expect from an Alpha with a smart mouth and an unnervingly clever mind. Though she seems sincere about the abuse she suffered.”

Which is why guilt is already working its way through the initial anger at her caustic behavior. All three women respond to the word to various degrees. Charlie strains to look closer at Meg. Dorothy stands taller, her hand falling to her sword. Jo’s face twists in empathy.

Castiel puts his shoulders under the weight of the tent, more for something to do than that they actually need his help. It doesn’t weigh that much. “We don’t know much. She mentioned shifters disappearing across the lands, but that is also terribly vague. Except that we need to stick close together from here on out. So you two, no more wandering off into the woods at night. Understood?”

Charlie blushes while she looks at him over her shoulder and Castiel squints a smile at her. “Yeah, I saw you.”

“What were you doing up?”

“Bobby and Karen snore.”

Dorothy hums doubtfully. “Maybe we should set up on this side of the fire then.”

“Not too far,” Jo says. “Castiel is right. We should all stay close.”


	15. Blue Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The limits of his vision flash red for the briefest moment, when he catches sight of the small fire. He freezes, the air torn from his lungs at the vision, a part of his essence drawn unforgivingly from under his sternum. Flowing to him.
> 
> Cas.
> 
> He is standing by the fire, warming his hands. The glow of the flames flickers across the planes and angles of his chest and stomach. There’s a moist glint to him.

Dean wanders through the forest quietly. Most everyone is settling down early for the night, which is no surprise after the day they’ve had. He doesn’t want to go to sleep yet. Nor does he expect to find sleep easily. Sam almost joined him, but he managed to convince him not to. The perks of having been a literal lone wolf for years… Somehow they tolerate misanthropic tendencies better.

He plucks an apple out of his pouch and tosses it in the air, catching it on his shoulder so it rolls down his arm. He nudges it up with his elbow and almost misses catching it. “Whelp,” he mutters to himself. “Not all here clearly.”

He gets out his knife and starts cutting off slices as thin as he can get them, eating them slowly. He spots the foggy sliver of a moon through the foliage. An owl hoots nearby and he catches the outline of bats flitting overhead against the starry sky. Everything looks softer around the edges. His own seem to bleed like ink into cheap paper. Try as he might, he can’t stay within the lines. He isn’t sure where the lines are at this point. The world around appears almost peaceful, but it is deceptive.

Words and their implications are clinging to him. The reproach in Meg’s tone cut deep. The chance that her stories are true even deeper.

He trusts his nose, following comforting scents on the air like he’s dreamwalking. The world seems to slow down around him, but his wolf is fast in sniffing out a trail. One meant to soothe his turmoil. He tries to stay ahead of the claustrophobic pressure of a nightmare licking at his edges.

A hungry need churns darkly in his gut. Immediately a shiver wracks through his frame and he wishes he was in one of his nests with a mass of blankets weighing him down. His mind mists up with too many uncertainties, not enough answers and erratic shadows in the dark closing in on him.

He squeezes his eyes shut. His foot catches on a fallen branch. Swaying under his own stumbling weight, he turns on the ball of his foot and comes full circle with his arms out, the apple core delicately held between his index finger and thumb.

“Heyy,” he chuckles. “I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

He tosses the core and tucks the knife.

Resting his hands at his belt, he squares his shoulders, feeling his vertebrae crack and pop. While he closes his eyes, he breathes in deeply, face tilted up. There’s the suggestion of rain on the air and his mind skitters to a decision that needs to be made and away again. The cool of night expands pleasantly in his chest. The scent of a herbal bonfire puts his senses on alert. He picks out piney herbs, but can’t name them. He inhales deeper and holds his breath, allowing the warmth of it to permeate him. Some of the pain eases under the balm-like effect. Like two fire-warmed hands smoothing over his skin, the healing touch of them slipping into his bloodstream.

His wolf urges him towards it and he gives way to the instinct. Blind. Trusting.

The forest becomes excruciatingly detailed in his perception as he walks with newfound purpose. A tempting haze licks at his edges and weighs down on him, the closer he gets to the source of the scent. His core trembles, needy, urgent, guilt-ridden.

When he makes it into the small clearing and nudges his nose in the air, recognizing the scent ahead of the surroundings. He was here not too long ago.

A quick scan of the soil confirms the remnants of massive wolf footprints. He smiles, a soft, pleased rumble vibrating through him at the memory. Castiel… Cas in his glorious wolf form. He hasn’t had the time to think about it and all of a sudden it’s the only thing on his mind.

His hands itch when he remembers how close they got to touching his magnificent, black fur. Thick strands of it, painted with touches of something akin to stardust. The aesthetic of which seems so fitting for Cas. Eyes like sapphires, somehow more revealing in that form than when he’s human.

The limits of his vision flash red for the briefest moment, when he catches sight of the small fire. He freezes, the air torn from his lungs at the vision, a part of his essence drawn unforgivingly from under his sternum. Flowing to him.

Cas.

He is standing by the fire, warming his hands. The glow of the flames flickers across the planes and angles of his chest and stomach. There’s a moist glint to him.

Dean’s mouth goes dry. The heat of Cas’ freshly washed scent overwhelms him to the point where he can only let it in.

His heart lurches with too many emotions at once, as his gaze lingers on the scars. The need to retaliate against this unknown predator battles with the urge to lick and kiss each tender patch of skin with devoted care. He lands nowhere, when guilt tears into him like a riptide, much stronger than before. He whines, as he moves towards Cas in a daze.

Cas looks up, but Dean has no idea what the shift in his expression means, because his whole body is churning with a pressing, burning want. His world narrows down to him, to Castiel. He feels he knows Cas’ story, even though he doesn’t, and fears his own reckless temper has made matters worse. In every way imaginable.

Cas’ eyebrows are working and his lips move, his deep voice breaking through the hum in his ears.

“Dean, are you alright?”

He hears genuine concern, white-hot because of its mere astonishing existence. Cas turns towards him, the leather pants tight across his thighs and darkened in some places.

The stray thought hits that Cas clearly needs help drying off.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, in search of words. It’s muddled within, like the heavy, thick smoke of pitchy wood burning is slowing him down. When Cas reaches out, a hand closing over his wrist, he lets his eyes fall shut and allows the sentiment out on a tight-voiced exhale.

“You were right. Both of you. I should have done better.”

In one fluid motion, Dean sinks to his knees, wishing for relief.

Dean’s petrichor scent is unforgiving in its overwhelming invasiveness, the neediness of it so deeply un-Alpha, he feels like the world’s tipped on its axis. Castiel’s heart is thundering loud enough to almost drown out the words that tumble from Dean’s lips. He has the time to wonder who Dean means by both of you, his thought skittering to Meg, before they’re blown to bits.

When Dean falls to his knees at Castiel’s feet.

A tremble starts in his hand. The one that’s still loosely connecting him to Dean’s rapid pulse and warmth. He has no idea what is going on, but every cell in his body vibrates at the subtle submissive tilt to Dean’s head, unsure if he’s aware he’s doing it. His eyes fall to the life line, beating rapidly along the strong column of his neck. He watches his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows.

He gazes down at Dean’s face, so utterly relaxed in its surrender. If it wasn’t for the tightness between his brow and the distress laced through his scent.

 _Soothe_.

His shadow extending to Dean, he bends over and Dean must sense it, because he opens his eyes, a low rumbling purr emanating from his chest as his eyes skitter across Castiel’s face, searching. Castiel is taken aback by the absolute trust or absence of fear, he isn’t sure which he finds in those eyes, when he’s swept away on their current into a need to _take_.

His hands shoot out to the back of Dean’s neck and he slides both of them along either side, marking him without hesitation. Dean moans, arms falling to the side of his thighs in open abandon. The effect on his scent is near-instant, but it isn’t enough. He holds his fingers to Dean’s erratic pulse and stills. Dean tilts his head further back, twisting into the touch until Castiel grabs hold of his hair and immobilizes him. Emerald eyes widen and flutter shut the next second, when a wicked smile flicks across his lips, flashing even, white teeth. It’s so quick, Castiel thinks he imagines it, but he smells the impudence waft up between them, along with a low, impressive continuous purring that sends goosebumps across his skin.

An answering deep growl builds in his chest and Castiel is mesmerized for several heartbeats as they rumble in sync.

Dean grabs both his wrists, the pressure warm and harsh, while he struggles against Cas’ grip on him. Easily his equal in strength, he pries his hands loose and pushes his cheeks to Cas’ wrists, one by one, slow, deliberate and licks a warm trail to each, scent-marking him in turn. A heavy spike of leathery musk shoots through their mingling scent of heavy rain and a crackling fire.

In an instant, his body betrays his mind.

Castiel trembles as a different need trickles like warm water down his spine. With a sudden deep sense of dread, he realizes he’s slicking. His cheeks flush in embarrassed anger. He _wants_ and he should _take_ and… His mind threatens to white out, except for…

“Dean…” His voice trembles deceivingly. 

In an instant, Dean puts his large, warm hands to either side of his face, reaching for Castiel through their scents.

He stares at Cas’ face framed between his hands, trying to get a grasp on what he’s smelling, but he feels like his whole body is on fire. And Cas is all over the place. For a second, he thinks he sees his eyes flash red, but now they’re flickering gold speckled in with the impossible blue. It must be the light of the fire playing tricks on him.

And the scent of slick, unlike any he’s ever smelled before, permeates the air. Dean pants heavily, his focus shifting from _surrender_ to _protect_. And then the two blend, when Cas presses his nose into his neck with a sharp sound of his teeth snapping together.

The warm flat of Cas’ tongue laves over his mating gland and the pieces of himself that make him Dean fall apart like shards of bark peeling off a burning tree, cascading down endlessly. He’s making word sounds, but they’re meaningless within the chaos. Instinctively, he goes in search of a handhold to gather his identity and clamps his hand down on the back of Cas’ neck, earning a warning snarl for his efforts.

He tries to push Cas away, pulling him closer in the same, desperate breath, his lungs burning with the intoxicating essence of him. There’s the phantom taste of warm herbal honey and fresh apple pie, flooding his mouth and he wants to kiss Cas so bad. More nonsense sounds spill from his lips, when finally, blissfully Cas drops to his knees with him, their thighs slotting together. Cas rolls his hips down on him. Dean sees stars at the increased pressure on his dick and he dimly registers Cas’ size.

“Holy Hellfire,” he curses, “Cas, you’re…”

He trails off, his mouth dry as he imagines the weight of him on his tongue. Saliva pools in his mouth. Whatever critical thought he might have had with regard to Cas’ unusual size is flying off towards the heavens, when Cas grips him by the hips, hard enough to bruise through his leathers. His large hands cupping Dean’s ass, Cas cants himself backwards, relentlessly dragging Dean with him until he’s straddling him and makes Dean grind down on him.

The heady scent of slick mingles gorgeously with Cas’ unique burning essence of pie and steeped herbs and fire. Dean places his hand over his throat, Cas knocking it away the next instant and he’s falling forward into the depths of those burning eyes.

He goes with it, planting his hands on either side of Cas as he grinds down on him. Cas grabs his hair and pulls him in, burying himself in Dean’s neck and there’s nothing he can do to stop, though some dimly clever part of him tries to get a handle on the situation.

He wants to dip into Cas’ neck, but can’t fucking move, because of the death grip he has on him. Such a strong Omega, challenging him. Dean delights in it, sensing a weight lifting off him with every peculiar coil in how they sway and flow. Dean growls in appreciation and forces Cas’ hand loose, pinning it down and licks a warm trail up his neck, breathing harshly into the hot pocket of air.

“Cas, you smell so good… I want to taste you…”

Dean’s words make his vision flash in a myriad of colors.

He’s falling apart at the seams, at a loss which emotions are his own, which urges belong to him and which are due to Dean’s intoxicating, overwhelming presence. A distant awareness tells him he should not be slicking, he can’t be slicking, because he hasn't... Not since she came into the world.

But he is.

And he loathes it.

An older part is fuming at this Alpha grinding down on him and surges forward violently. Fighting the instincts within in vain, Castiel snarls when his urge to sink his teeth in is ripped out into the glaring light. He gasps at the power behind it and the sudden, terrifying realization of his inability to control it.

With a momentous effort, he grabs hold of Dean’s torso, aiming for force rather than elegance and rolls them, so he’s on top. An approving howl from within and a needy growl from Dean, which sends part of him to a confused stuttering halt but he dismisses it in favor of take. For a blessed moment, Dean grabs him by the hips and snaps his up. Castiel keens, slick leaking out of him, wanting to tumble forward, but he digs his heels in and fights through the onslaught, as he scrambles to his feet and away from Dean.

Dean whines and sits up, his scent dripping with arousal and need and trust. Which still reads as mystifying, because Dean’s behavior is off by a few miles. A darkness urges Castiel to give the pup what it wants, to flip him and hold him down by the neck, sink into him and claim.

Why doesn’t Dean smell this? Why doesn’t he run?

Running… so he can chase him. Hunt him. Throttle him. Spear him.

“God, stop, stopstopstop,” Castiel whispers desperately, pressing his palms to his temples. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

He turns, shifts and _runs_. A distraught howl follows him into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *happy sound* Well, I mean, it's not brilliant, but y'know... there's a lot here that was lovely to play with. Obviously.
> 
> Do let me know how you're faring with these boys so far!
> 
> Much love,  
> Mal


	16. Sycamore Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have not talked since. Dean’s scent permeates through the blockers they’re both wearing, but muted. A blessing, because Castiel needs only the slightest whiff to imagine the full aroma and neither his mind nor body are equipped to handle it. He is still trying to understand what is happening to him. He avoids Dean, scared what his wolf might get up to, if given half a chance, but that’s a mediocre success.
> 
> Because there’s a subtlety to Dean’s scent that’s plunging a knife in his heart every time he catches it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title song is [Sycamore Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzoQlw4v3jg) by Jaymay. I am bad at wording when it comes to explaining what a song does to me, so maybe just give it a listen and see?
> 
> *HUGS*  
> Mal

Dean is out of it. Completely. He hasn’t slept a wink in days. He’s eating so much, others have started commenting on it. He’s confused, tired and frustrated. Probably horny too, but that’s neither here nor there, because he’s suffered enough ruts and lonely travels to deal with that. Not that he’s dealing with it in that sense. There’s too many of them in the camp and he doesn’t want anyone picking up on that scent. Nor does he want to go jack off in the woods.

He’s tried to analyze what happened. Both his own behavior and Cas’. All it’s done is provide him with a near-to permanent headache. Give him warring Tribes, a battle field or even a game of chess, and he’ll manage.

This escapes him for so many reasons, it feels pointless to try.

Perhaps if he were to talk to Cas, but of course they haven’t and he can tell Cas is trying to avoid him. Hellfire, he isn’t sure he isn’t doing the same, because he isn’t sure he wants to admit his needs to Cas. Besides Benny, no one knows, and Benny was possible, because he was a perfect stranger, away from his homelands. He’s come to sufficient terms with his proclivities, but that doesn’t mean he wants to put them on display, least of all with an Omega who confuses and surely loathes him in equal measure.

He doesn’t want to have to deal with this on top of everything else, though his wolf persists. His Alpha, who’s not quite an Alpha, but what it does make him, he can’t say. Broken, if anything. 

With a tired sigh, he rubs his hand over his eyes and decides to check in with Bobby. Perhaps Karen is willing to bake another pie.

“What in the fresh hell?” Dean mutters, while he opens the tent flap to Bobby and Karen’s tent.

Bobby splutters and whatever he’s got going in the bowl goes up in a poof of billowing smoke. With a delicate clink, the crystal he was holding drops into it. Cursing he waves a hand to clear the air and coughs. “ _Bé Chuille_ , Dean, don’t sneak up on an old man like that.”

Dean snorts and quickly slips inside, letting the tent fall closed behind him. Crystals. “Old man, my ass. You’re dabbling in magic. Mom told me you had ways to communicate, I just didn’t figure it was gonna be this. So who’s on the other end?”

“Your grandmother.”

For a second, he stares and then he doubles over, laughing, hands on his knees. It is a welcome surge of emotion, one that loosens up some of the tightness in his chest. “Oh, Dad’s gonna love this when he finds out.”

“Go ahead, laugh. I fear your Dad has other problems right now besides his brother-in-arms, wife and mother turning to witchcraft.”

“That was fuckin’ short-lived,” he sighs. “If you put it that way, what the hell’s going on?”

“Well, I wanted to check in with them about these disappearing shifters. The quick and dirty of it is Azazel turned on the Hunter clan.”

With a weary sigh, Dean squats down next to Bobby, rubbing both hands over the back of his head. “Where are they?”

“Most of them left The Bunker.”

Dean frowns, waiting it out.

“Or rather, he drove your father out, with your grandmother, Kate and Adam, but kept Mary and Jody with him.”

“Why in the hell would Dad allow that? Or Mom for that matter!”

“Think, boy.”

Dean rubs both hands over his face. “He took the most vulnerable pack members. And Mom and Jody are doing something stupid. Like keeping track of the bastard.”

Bobby clicks his tongue in agreement. “The conflict is going to spread. People will start to take sides… villages and packs are going to fall apart in the wake of it.”

“In other words, Sam was right.”

“We all knew he was right.”

“But why? What did they do?”

“Your parents have been trying to flush the truth out into the open. April attacking you, Anna’s part in not following up what happened at the camp. They tried to get Azazel to acknowledge what his subjects have done, but he’s been slipping out of their grasp.”

“But the law…”

“He’s been recalling laws. Small ones. Invoking curfew. Setting up guards. Claiming that civil unrest requires clear-cut rules, a return to our roots for safety’s sake.”

“Let me guess… He’s undoing what Dad has been working on. And people let him?”

“He’s been makin’ people believe they need to fear change for long enough, they believe it. And right now, it feels like we did let him, yeah, so what were the people going to do?”

“What about Crowley and Bartholomew?”

“They both remain loyal to Azazel.”

“ _Cruinniuc’s Balls_ ,” Dean hisses.

“Yep, and they’re being squeezed,” Bobby squints.

“Did you get anything on the disappearances?”

“No, but your grandma said she’d take it up with your Dad and they’d try to get a feel for it. Insofar as you bloody can. Cas said you contacted someone?”

“I did,” Dean nods. “A friend of mine across the seas. No news yet… It’s a fair distance.” His heart hurts, a cold gripping around it, at the thought of Hugin. “I’m hoping…”

“You and me both, son.”

“Sorry to mess up your spell.”

“Oh, we were done… Just don’t sneak up on me.” Bobby starts cleaning up the elements, eyeing him from under his bushy eyebrows. “You look like shit, kid.”

“Thanks, Bobby, appreciate it.”

“I’m serious. What’s going on?”

Dean purses his lips, eyebrows shooting up as he spreads his palms flat to the tent canvas. He can’t make up his mind if Bobby noticed, but on the other hand, he probably smelled like Cas after that night… No one’s called them out on any of it. Which means exactly nothing, because he’s not willing to engage the conversation. He doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Hell, perhaps they’re scared to do so, because he’s an Alpha.

He reconsiders the notion with a frown. No one should be scared of him here. He hopes none of them are. And Bobby doesn’t know the meaning of the word sugarcoat.

“Too much at once and I can’t seem to focus.”

“Well, can’t blame you there, but you were trained for this.”

A soft snort escapes him and he smiles through a glower. “Sure. So should we meet up with Dad?”

“Unwise, Deanna said. He wants to keep their eyes on him, so I imagine he’s starting some guerrilla strikes to keep Azazel busy.”

“Of course. Makes perfect sense. Us adrift and his wife and right hand in the goddamn monster’s den.” Dean nods a few times and sighs. “We gotta inform the others and come up with a plan.”

“Go ahead, boy. I’ve had my fill of table talk for a while.”

Dean squints at him, trying to create order in the chaos in his head, and gives a curt nod as he gets up.

Castiel observes Meg from their tent.

Most of them are occupied one way or another. Bobby is in his tent. Sam and Karen are checking on the cart. Dorothy and Charlie are in their tent, while Gadreel and Lee are running a perimeter. The cubs are off to get water with Kevin. Eileen is sitting by the fire pit, talking with Jo and Ellen. Since emerging from Bobby’s tent, Dean’s been rummaging through the various food baskets, which has Castiel squinting a reluctant smile. Pup won’t stop eating.

Ever since a few nights ago, he wonders if Dean’s scent will ever leave him.

Gadreel cursed in his sleep, when Castiel returned to their tent after he ran away from Dean. Only to find his coat, shirt, socks and boots folded in a neat stack on his bedroll. Everything smelled like Dean, though he wasn’t sure if Dean consciously scent-marked it or his nose was still recovering from the assault.

They have not talked since. Dean’s scent permeates through the blockers they’re both wearing, but muted. A blessing, because Castiel needs only the slightest whiff to imagine the full aroma and neither his mind nor body are equipped to handle it. He is still trying to understand what is happening to him. He avoids Dean, scared what his wolf might get up to, if given half a chance, but that’s a mediocre success.

Because there’s a subtlety to Dean’s scent that’s plunging a knife in his heart every time he catches it.

Rejection. Or denial…

Whether Dean’s or his own, he can’t fucking tell, but his wolf wants him to soothe it. To make up for the damage he must have done.

And he can’t do that.

He sighs at the mess he finds himself in, when his attention skids back to Meg.

The thought has been playing in his mind since her arrival. He takes off his coat and throws it on his bedroll before he heads out. The others look up briefly as he does so. Approaching her loudly, his feet rush through the ferns. For good measure, he announces himself with a subtle scraping of his throat. Meg looks up from the deer she’s skinning, wiping at her hair with her forearm.

“What do you want?” she sighs.

“Are you always this moody?”

Meg smiles. “I could ask you the same.”

“I am not moody,” Castiel says.

She shoots him a challenging look and shrugs dismissively. “If you say so.”

He rolls up his sleeves past his elbows, ignoring her remark. “I wanted to offer some help.”

“I’m good,” she says, getting back to work. “She isn’t that big.”

Castiel sighs slowly in mild weariness. “Fine. Then I wanted to thank you.”

She holds her silence, dark eyes focused on the deer.

“For helping me with Claire. Back at the Gathering.”

For a brief moment, she stills while she studies him and seems to weigh her words. “You’re welcome.”

“But I wanted to talk too.”

“You want a lot of things and none of them ring true to my ears, handsome. But I can talk. A lot. It won’t do you much good though.”

“Your scars…”

“No,” she bites, slicing under the skin with precision, while her other hand slides underneath to help peel it off.

“I know you don’t remember…”

“Exactly, which means we have nothing to talk about.”

“Perhaps,” he amends, keeping his voice steady.

He squats down on the other end of the deer. Giving her a tentative look, which she meets without telling him off, he assists her by grabbing hold of the already skinned parts so she has better access. They work in silence for a while, until her hands stutter to a halt.

He was counting on her perception skills to catch sight of his scars. For the first time, he feels he has her genuine attention. Her lips become a tight line, while she reaches over with a bloodied hand.

“I would rather you don’t touch them,” he says lowly.

Her expression remains neutral though he catches a sliver of fear in them, before she recoils and snatches her hand back. Castiel keeps his eyes cast down, focused on the deer and watches her return to her work, but her gestures are slower. He dips into his wolf to extend a sense of understanding to her, unsure if it’ll take. “If there’s anything you remember, I’d like to know.”

“You want to know?” she mutters. “You don’t remember either?”

Castiel tilts his head at her in mute concession, unwilling to lie, not when there is a chance they share a similar experience, but not willing to tell her the truth either. He isn’t sure he can trust her and he’s already taking a risk revealing this much.

Her voice is suddenly thick with emotion, all of them fueled by anger. “I wish… I’ve been trying to remember. And I’ve thought about asking for help, but…”

When she falters and her shoulders slump lightly, he understands all too easily. “You’re not sure you want to remember.”

“I am quite certain that what I remember is all I am going to get,” she whispers. “I wasn’t… all there. Drugged.”

A detail which sounds all too familiar. “But why you?”

Their eyes meet and she grimaces. “Because it feels like no one is safe anymore.”

An old memory is triggered by the words and his mouth goes dry. “How do you mean?”

“I remember enough to know my father must have allowed it to happen,” she says. “More than once. Or I would not have found myself back in my pack’s den every time.”

“That is… highly unsettling.”

She scoffs, cynicism oozing off her, as she nods a few times. “Who did it to you?”

“My family,” he admits. “No place like home for the stuff of nightmares, right?”

She lets out a high peal of laughter at that. For a moment, he smiles at her, because she is quite beautiful in a scary way when she laughs.

“For some, it seems so,” she says, turning solemn once more. “Though you and your pack seem to do better. So far removed from everything.”

“Not far enough clearly, if you’ve been keeping tabs. And it gets tiring to be ever on the move, especially when we are moving backwards instead of forwards.”

“I imagine so.” Meg flashes him a dark grin. “Still… I don’t know if there’s a place far enough to run to, but I’ll try.”

“Then why not keep moving? Why find us first?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I came to warn you.”

“Your motivations are unclear,” Castiel nods. “I have half a mind to pack up and leave.”

“You’re a lot smarter than I gave you credit for,” she says.

Castiel squints at her, as she smiles at him. “Thank… you?”

“But I’d be surprised if this band of do-gooders has the stomach for it.” She winks at him brashly. “Because I notice you don’t mention leaving me behind.”

He wrinkles his nose, trying to get a read on her, but finds it difficult with the scent of blood overpowering nigh all else. “If what you say happened to you is true… and those scars suggest it is, you deserve a safe place. If only to recover before moving on.”

“My, what a subtle way to make someone feel accepted and rebuked at the same time. Color me impressed.”

He glares at her, but with little zeal behind it.

She laughs again. “You’re alright for a Nomad.”

“You’re not entirely miserable for a Tribal yourself,” he says as he quirks an eyebrow at her.

They look up when they hear a mild commotion to find Dorothy emerging from her tent, dressed for travel. Charlie’s on her heels, audibly upset. Jo and Ellen are waiting for them around the fire, with Eileen, Sam and Dean.

“What’s happening?”

“In the vein of what you told us, it seems the Hunter clan has fallen out with your father. So we are splitting up.”

Meg’s forehead wrinkles in something akin to worry or empathy, Castiel isn’t sure. “I… That seems like a very bad idea.”

“As Dorothy’s mate, I am sure Charlie agrees with you,” Castiel says, his chest contracting.

“That’s what I’m smelling all the way here…? Well, shit.”

Castiel hums in acknowledgement, grateful for the recent bonded couple’s scent likely camouflaging him and Dean. Hopefully. He does not envy Charlie and Dorothy’s situation, but it would be foolish to let Charlie join her back with the Tribes. Granted, he thinks it a… perhaps not downright foolish endeavor to let Dorothy go on her own, but it is certainly dangerous.

“So I take it they are going to find John and Mary?”

“Something along those lines.”

“You are not very forthcoming.”

“Just because I believe you deserve a safe space doesn’t mean I trust you, Meg.”

Meg shoots him an indulgent look and gestures at Dorothy. “Won’t they smell the mating on her?”

“Regardless where she goes, yes. Which is probably what has Charlie in such a state.”

They watch the interaction unfold, while Dorothy and Charlie bid a goodbye that hurts even across the distance. Meg lets out an annoyed sound. “They shouldn’t…”

Castiel looks at her, intrigued by the flavor of her voice.

“It’s their funeral.”

Holding his silence, Castiel waves a goodbye with his bloodied hand, as the three women get moving, Toto by the reins. It takes them a while to make their way up the precipice and out of sight. The rest of them scatter, back to their activities.

For a moment, Meg straightens up with a sigh, rolling her shoulders to stretch her back and neck. She casts a look around, while Castiel peels back the deer’s skin.

“Almost done,” he says, when she doesn’t get back to work. “Want me to take over?”

He looks back to her, finding a cocky amusement in her expression when she tilts her head, eyes narrowed.

“What is so funny?”

“Go ask him,” Meg says, jutting her chin out towards the tents. “He was your boyfriend first.”

Blood draining from his face, Castiel follows her gaze and finds Dean observing them. It doesn’t take much to interpret his body language.

“Go on, Clarence, before he rips my throat out. I got this.”

“He won’t,” Castiel says instinctively.

He wants to believe it with every fiber of his being.

As he looks towards Dean, he lets some of what Meg told him sink in. The most obvious reason for his unease being that it sounds like whatever Elysium put him through is spreading to the Tribes. He watched them leave with his own eyes, but that is hardly a guarantee of anything.

The way Dean’s looking at him across the distance, he finds himself wiping his hands on one of the rags Meg has at the ready and moving towards him on instinct. When he gets close, he realizes he’s picking up on his distress once more.

He sighs when his wolf responds and braces himself.


	17. What Hurts Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something in the way he and Cas interact that is the equivalent of flipping a coin. Heads, they butt them. Tails, they chase them. If it lands on its side, maybe they stand a chance. He isn’t sure how it lands this time. Whatever it is, they lure each other into the same energy, augmenting it, and everything unspoken is zero help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums* Another lovely band for this title song: [What Hurts Worse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01hnnMYv1hQ) by Iron and Wine. Soothing voice, tunes that carry a mile and then some 'elsewhere'. For me.
> 
> And oh, our boys. *tilts a head* One day at a time. I did enjoy writing Charlie in this one.
> 
> Love and hugs to you and yours.  
> Take care of yourselves,  
> Mal

From the corner of his eye, Dean is aware of Castiel walking up to him and he sighs, insides swirling unpleasantly. He’s not okay with Dorothy, Jo and Ellen leaving, though it makes sense to fan out and dig in across the board. He trusts Jo and Ellen will find John, but he wishes Dorothy joined them rather than return to The Bunker. Silver lining: Dorothy can hold her own easily. Reverse: Jo and Ellen have no training.

He decides to start training the Nomads. It’ll give them something to focus on. And himself as well.

Setting the baskets down on the rock at the edge of their camp, he gives them a shake. He frowns as he rummages through the fruit and vegetables, plucking out the ones that are going off. He tosses them into the forest with gusto. His ears are perked to catch Cas walking up to him and his skin prickles in anticipation. He scowls lightly at how easily his body wants to sway into whatever the hell is between them. His instincts have never been so at odds with his mind before in his life and he wonders how much of it is down to Cas’ erratic behavior in the face of it. That and the thought of Cas’ hands all over him again overwhelms him.

Cas puts his splayed fingers to the top of the rock, reaching for Dean subtly.

“You alright?”

 _Great_.

Cas picks up on it. Which perhaps should not be a surprise, as he’s sure he can still _taste_ him on his tongue, so why wouldn’t Cas smell him? Dean seems to pick him up everywhere he goes. And they never even kissed, he adds in a sulky afterthought. He’s been trying to figure out what exactly happened, but keeps failing. The memories are intense flashes of images and impressions and scents. A myriad of instincts at odds with tradition. He is on quicksand, especially after Cas ran from him. Half of what he thinks he felt and smelled, he doubts by now.

He waited by the fire, close enough to feel it burn, until he figured Cas wasn’t coming back and returned to camp, Cas’ clothes under his arm. When he entered Cas’ tent, Gadreel woke up. Dean could tell from the way he crinkled his nose, there was no point pretending. But he held his tongue and so did Dean.

The thought of talking to Cas pops back up. Every time he tries to imagine it, it tends to escalate. No surprise as such, seeing as Cas talks about as fluently as the rock he’s leaning against. And he isn’t much better himself in the face of this blessedly confusing chaos.

But Cas senses his distress and the last thing he wants is to add to Cas’ almost tangible burden. Even if he doesn’t know, he can fucking sense it all the time. Cas hasn’t been eating right, the same way Dean hasn’t been sleeping right and he has the vague notion it might be connected, but he’s too tired to dig further.

“Been better,” he says gruffly. “It’s unsettling to have people leave.”

Cas hums in understanding, fingers trailing over the rock. Offering a handful of good berries to Cas, Dean’s frown deepens when he refuses them. He puts half of them down and shoves the other half in his mouth. He licks at his Cupid’s bow to get the stray berry flesh, when he scowls at Castiel.

“Fuckin’ eat, Cas. You barely eat.”

Castiel bristles visibly and looks at him sideways while he plucks a berry – one berry – and nibbles on it. Dean tries to hide the smile that provokes and fails miserably, so he shakes his head, taken by surprise by the lightness of the moment.

“Pup.”

Cas snorts and pops a few more berries in his mouth as he grins crookedly, flashing Dean a row of white teeth. It’s almost easy.

Almost.

“Did Meg tell you anything useful?”

The shift in Cas’ body language is instant.

“What makes you think we talked about anything of importance?”

There’s something in the way he and Cas interact that is the equivalent of flipping a coin. Heads, they butt them. Tails, they chase them. If it lands on its side, maybe they stand a chance. He isn’t sure how it lands this time. Whatever it is, they lure each other into the same energy, augmenting it, and everything unspoken is zero help.

Leaning an arm on the basket, Dean bestows him a challenging glare, his lower jaw cocked pensively as he weighs his words. “Okay, if you wanna play it that way. What makes me think you talked about anything of importance is that your scars look alike, Cas.”

Castiel chews his lower lip, forehead scrunched up in annoyed confusion.

“Yeah,” Dean says on a bitey smirk. “Stop thinking I don’t _see_ you, while you’re so busy hiding. That and you know… you were kinda half naked last time…”

The blush that blooms at his neck is beautiful, but there’s a sour twist in his scent that tells him exactly how Cas feels about Dean bringing that up.

“Even when you don’t scent people, you can’t stop yourself from nosing around, can you?”

Heads, it is.

“You seem to be _my_ exception.”

A flicker of something dark in his eyes and Cas hums in annoyance when his gaze skitters across the rock to the basket. Dean holds out a pear to him, which he surprisingly accepts. His sharp teeth tear into the flesh – a wanton memory tugs at him - while Dean continues to examine the fruit.

“We need to be careful around Meg.”

“If I recall well, you came to me out of sorts over what she said… You believe her.”

“I believe something really bad happened to her. That doesn’t mean I’m going to confide in her, Cas.”

“Who says I did?”

Castiel purses his lips, as his pink tongue peeks out to lick his incisors.

“So you’ll talk to the daughter of the guy who ran my family out of their home, but you’ll push me away?”

 _Morrigan’s Cowl_ , that last bit slips out unintentionally, but it goes a long way towards explaining some of his restlessness. Losing three pack members in one day in exchange for an Alpha who seems to be luring Cas in… Dean loathes how everything seems to keep slipping out of his grasp.

And he can sense the conversation going into a slipstream, because he knows he and Cas have different focal points.

But he can’t help himself.

“For all we know she did that to herself or it’s some sob story, meant to get us to take pity on her.”

“I did not confide in her,” Castiel repeats. “I was trying to see if she remembers anything and figured, if she saw my scars…”

“And?”

“Nothing. She says she was drugged. That Azazel was probably in on it.”

Dean inhales sharply at the thought and it forces his attention in the best possible way. “What? Why the fuck would he do that to his own daughter?”

“Valid question. If you find the answer, let me know.”

Castiel breaks the stem off the pear, tosses it and pops the last of the soft flesh in his mouth, licking his fingers. Dean’s pleased he is able to observe this and not lose his mind the way he did at the springs.

“Remind me… Isn’t it _your_ family who functioned as one with Azazel not too long ago? If they had a suspicion he was unreliable then, why didn’t they do anything?”

Dean grimaces, impatience rearing its head. After the effects of Meg’s rebuke, he doesn’t need Cas’ added to the pile. “Azazel was part of Crowley’s pack. He was under control. Or supposed to be.”

“Thank you for tacking on that nuance. Within the span of an hour, he was anything but under control. None of you intervened, all for the sake of… what… tradition? The law?”

He wants to repeat the reasons, but feels they have become moot. They didn’t make sense to him when his father ticked them off on his fingers, so it’d be rich to use them now… to defend a stance he was never on board with. Yet it is all too reminiscent of his own feelings on the matter.

Because everything they were trying to avoid by walking on eggshells around the status quo and the voices of change is looking like it’s going to happen anyway. He and Sam fucking off made no difference. The only positive is that Elysium is off their lands and while the thought crosses his mind, doubt grips him tight.

“This wasn’t the point of this conversation!” he snaps in frustration.

“Maybe it should be!” Castiel glares at him. “Why do you insist on getting distracted by such… futilities?”

Dean bristles, shoving the basket away from him. It tilts dangerously, but the weight of the fruit settles it on the rock. “Futility?” he hisses. “That’s what you’ll call it.”

His cheeks burn at the memories, at how easily Cas had him falling apart, his inclinations on display. A sweat breaks out over his whole body. He can make head nor tails of Cas within the whole and it is giving him severe blowback.

“Why? Why do you…”

He bites his tongue, because the emotions behind the words are too raw to be spoken aloud, but he smells it on the air as his _need_ bleeds through. It seems to hit Castiel full force and he staggers, at the same time reaching out, clamping a hand down on his upper arm painfully hard. He shakes his head and exhales roughly, like he’s trying to expel Dean’s scent.

“Dean, stop.”

“Why?”

Castiel shudders while he breathes in, eyes ablaze. Remembering the scent of him slicking, Dean wonders if Cas’ heat is imminent, but if that little stunt at the springs didn’t trigger it, he has no idea what would.

“Why should I stop, Cas? Give me one good reason.”

“Because I don’t want to risk losing control and…”

Castiel snaps his mouth shut so quickly, Dean hears the jaws snap painfully and winces reflexively. Dean gapes and evaluates what he’s hearing. “What were you gonna say?”

Castiel rubs his forehead. “Dean…”

Dean scents the air shamelessly and gets a glare for his efforts, but the result is worth it. He picks out the concern, the reluctance, and the myriad of subtle emotions all boiling down to one. “Are you… concerned for my well being?”

Cas flusters, but scowls when Dean puts on an air of smug innocence as he leans towards him.

“Are you… _protecting_ me, Cas? From what?”

“So what if I am?”

“Nothing. It’s just a very Alpha thing to do. And I thought you didn’t like that kind of behavior.”

“I didn’t. I don’t.”

“My experience begs to differ,” Dean smirks, calling him out.

“Must you be this way?”

Dean tilts his head and allows some bluster to seep into his attitude, relishing the way it irks Cas. He pulls his shoulders back and angles himself towards Cas with enough suggestion behind the tilt in his hips, he can’t help but smirk, remembering the scent of Cas’ slick, his pupils blown wide. “Which way is that, Cas? Rutting down on you?”

Castiel’s other hand snatches out and grabs him by the collar. It catches him entirely by surprise, this invasion of his space. A gasp is torn from him as Cas’ strength forces him to his tip toes for a second and his breathing ramps up, because he loves the way Cas handles him. Eyes wide, he closes his hand over Cas’ wrist.

“Enough, Dean.”

Slowly, he bares his teeth as he gets into Cas’ face, his tongue flicking against the back of his teeth. “Make me.”

The wind falls quiet when they do. The world drops away.

Castiel snarls at him on a sharp inhale, the energy of it sending a spark dancing up his spine. Bemused by how accommodating his wolf is in all this, Dean laughs through a hitched breath at the thrilled jolt that courses through him at the sound.

They are aware this time. He’s not in some godforsaken, guilty daze and Cas isn’t overwhelmed. He sees it in the bright flames of Cas’ eyes and senses it in his perfect focus to call him out.

He reaches out to Cas. With both hands, he starts skimming them over Castiel’s arms. Keeping his pacing deliberately slow, he watches Cas track them when he licks his lips. His gaze falls back to Dean’s face, eyes narrowed, lips parted around short bursts of breath, but not deliriously so. Not yet. There is ample time for him to stop Dean, to push him off or walk away. For a moment, his heart trembles at the thought of that happening again.

Hellfire, there’s ample time for Dean to reconsider, but there’s no part of him that wants to.

His hands find purchase on Cas’ shoulders, the muscles flexing beneath. Dean breathes faster, when Cas gives under the gentlest tug at his back and steps _into_ his personal space. He blinks in wonder as his vision is filled with all that is Cas. The dark stubble outlining his jaw. The straight line of his nose. His wide nostrils. The fatigue lines under his eyes and the wrinkles in his forehead. The slight downward turn to his eyes and yet, his gaze is so forceful. Those stupidly expressive eyebrows. Cas’ defenses appear to be down and for a second he fears he’ll be swallowed by the flames in those eyes. His wolf howls hearteningly. Dean lets out the shaky breath he’s been holding.

Cas pulls him closer by the waist and Dean’s eyes threaten to fall shut to better allow his scent in, but he won’t let them. He can’t. He wants to see. They’re chest to chest and another pleased purr rumbles up from him, and Cas’ scent fires up in earnest, charmingly sensitive to him. Dean hopes. He swallows hard and lets his mouth fall slack, while he inhales greedily. Cas’ eyes flicker intensely and his nostrils flare in turn, Dean’s insides swirling wildly at the sight.

Cas tilts his head at him, brow knit together, his eyes roaming across Dean’s face and falling to his neck. A deep churning need extends from Cas to Dean, lapping at his skin warmly.

The death grip on his collar relaxes and Cas slides his fingers to the back of his neck in a possessive gesture. He rubs his wrists together behind him and the warmth of their touch marking Dean once more registers, setting up the hair in his neck. Instantly, Dean’s breathing ramps up and he tilts his head back slightly. A deep snarl emanates from Cas’ chest as he grips tighter. Dean lets out a pleased growl, which quickly disperses to a purr at the display of dominance. He tucks his chin a smidge.

Dimly aware it went wrong last time, because of something he did – somehow - he reins in his Alpha. Dean removes his hands from Cas’ shoulders and grips the edge of the rock, opening himself up to Cas. His hips roll as he does and he flashes a rickety smile when that pulls a moan from Cas and a tremor wracks his frame.

He can hear Cas’ resolve snap.

Dean inches closer, allowing his breath to ghost over Cas’ lips, head swimming. And his brain gives out when Cas plants a large hand on the side of his neck, the other squeezing down on the back, and claims him in a searing kiss. His body presses flush to Dean, the heat of which seeps through every layer he has on, straight to his core. Dean groans into the kiss and Cas dips in without missing a heartbeat, ravaging his mouth. The intimacy of this physical contact is too much. Dean’s knees go weak, but Cas has him... and his blood catches on fire at the realization.

Castiel has no fucking clue what he’s doing. No, wait. He knows exactly _what_ he’s doing when he kisses Dean, but why the fuck he’s allowing it to happen, he has no clue. It should bother him, hell, it should terrify him - and it does - but…

The challenge. Such a _pup_ and he dares.

Dean bends and opens up to him.

He crowds Dean into the rock, his upper body giving some way, but the strength of him resists full surrender and he holds his ground. Supple, but powerful within his arms. It’s a heady feeling in its unfamiliarity and potential.

Castiel angles his head, lapping at his mouth. He soaks up Dean’s flavor, sucks on his tongue in search of more. Everything he is floods him, his scent, his taste, his warmth, his touch. Castiel is swept up on the current of him, as he mouths along Dean’s jaw and kisses him again, his mind skipping ahead to where his lips, his teeth, want to travel. A whine escapes him, when he tracks his scent to his pulse.

He squeezes the globes of Dean’s ass, intent on hoisting him onto the rock. There follows a muffled sound of pleased surprise, but he catches on fast and jumps when Castiel lifts him up. He steps between his legs, nudging them wide as Dean scoots to the edge with a whimper, wanting to close the distance between them.

Dean twists his fingers into his hair and nips at his lower lip. Castiel moans deeply, opening up and licks into him. His hands roam across Dean’s leathers, searching for a point of entry. A surge of frustration threatens to rise, but Dean breaks the kiss and tilts his head back and he follows the path opening up, his pulse _right there_.

Drunk on his scent, Castiel flattens his tongue and licks a trail up the vein, Dean’s thudding heartbeat tangible.

With an almost painful sigh of relief, he sucks down hard on the gland.

Dean presses closer to him, his legs locking around his waist. He moans when his erection presses against his stomach. Dean’s warm breath ghosts out in short bursts in the crook of Castiel’s neck. He sees stars when Dean’s teeth graze his neck, but only briefly so, because he tilts his head back with a needy sound. He shoulders his way forward, pushing Dean down on the rock, draping himself over him. His coat falls wide around them, their scents filling up the make-shift cubbyhole.

He can’t discern between their scents anymore. His hands find access to Dean’s leathers and he rucks them up, hearing something rip as his hands close over warm skin. He _takes_. He takes all he can get, fearing his body will betray him again. He hasn’t experienced anything like this in years. Desire blends with the strong urge to claim. Light flashes behind his closed eyelids. A by now faintly familiar instinct takes hold. He bites down on Dean’s neck, a satisfied long groan leaving him.

For a moment, that is it. His teeth digging into the supple, soft skin without breaking it, Dean clutching onto him.

And then it slides out of their grasp.

Anxiety spikes violently in Dean’s scent, which cuts through the cloud between them. All of a sudden Dean is reduced to an armful of trembling Alpha beneath him, which is so foreign, he has no idea how to handle it. The sudden intensity of it knocks the wind out of him. Two instincts at war, he forces himself to let go of Dean’s neck, feeling the skin stick to his lips as he does.

He looks down at him. Dean’s pupils are blown wide with desire, but his expression is laced with overwhelmed dread. He’s groping for Castiel, quivering from his core. Castiel puts a hand to the side of his face. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean nudges into the touch, sniffing at his wrist, but he won’t stop shaking. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow.

Instinctively, Castiel pushes his cheek to his, marking him in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

Blinking hard, so close to Dean, he tries to catch up to what’s happening and remembers seeing Dean in chains. The way he sank to his knees for him. Pure instinct drives him, his own needs a distant whining he shelves. He clamps a hand to the back of Dean’s neck, another to the center of his chest and puts pressure. One hand closes over his wrist in reflex. Dean inhales desperately, harshly, but holds it, eyes locked to Cas’. He senses his attempts to regain control bleed through.

He lowers his hips, disregarding the moan that friction draws from them both, and leans more of his weight down. Dean’s legs unhook from around his waist and entangle with his. His breath comes in soundless heaves, pushing their chests together, but he can feel the effects of his weight on Dean sinking in. Slowly.

The urge to comfort has him touching his forehead to Dean’s in an intimate gesture, drowning himself in those sea green eyes.

“Oh! Oh my!” A voice cuts through the din of his own rushing blood and the overpowering blend of their scents. “What a lovely spread you have!”

Castiel scrambles to break free. Dean’s whimper alerts him to the hands grabbing him tight and he finds Dean refusing to let go, which hampers his movements severely. His own hands betray him when they drag Dean along off the rock and he’s hopelessly distracted by trying to hold himself and Dean together in an embrace. Dean’s eyes are glassy and he’s blinking furiously at Castiel, as if he expects to find answers in his face.

Clearly there are none. There’s only a question when Castiel raises worried eyebrows at him. Castiel leans in, their hair touching, hoping their proximity suffices. Dean gives a sharp nod, as his lips part around a long exhale. He mutters something Castiel can’t make out. Within another heartbeat, his head seems to clear and he looks to the intruder. Castiel tracks Dean’s face and body, his heart thundering like a pack of hunting wolves.

Dean gathers himself with alarming ease, while he drapes an arm around Castiel. “Anything we can help you with, Charlie?”

Reluctant, Castiel meets her gaze, becoming aware of his full body blush and the general state she found them in. He tugs at his coat, still draped over the lower half of Dean. Charlie’s grinning from ear to ear, on the verge of clapping her hands at or for them, he can’t tell. He glowers at her and she positively _beams_. Any more and he thinks she might turn into the sun.

Dean’s fingers are still in his hair, rubbing soothing circles, which, no, he should not be doing. He pries his hand away, earning a glare for it. Guilt swirls instantly. He allows it when Dean lets his hand rest in the back of his neck, a surge of want spiking. Annoyed, Castiel tries to shake off the myriad of needs and wants and … too much that’s coursing through him. He reaches out to her and her needs instead.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “Dean asked a question. What’s wrong?”

Her mouth moves as she tries to figure out which sound to make and a surprised giggle escapes her. “I… I, well, I wanted to ask for a cuddle, because I…” Her face falls and her voice thins out painfully. “But you seem… occupied. Which is good! I mean, no problem! You guys smell amazing, sort of, I dunno… caught something weird near the end… but…”

She catches herself rambling, raises her hands and makes to turn away, muttering an apology. Castiel surges forward at sensing her distress and sees Dean reach out to her, though he stumbles for a moment. His hand shoots out to Dean’s lower back to stabilize him, but both their senses extend to her.

“Charles, wait.”

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Her dark eyes go wide and they bounce from him to Dean and back, evaluating them openly. He thinks he sees her push her nose into the air, but isn’t sure, when she moves towards them the next moment. Up close, she looks pale and tired, but passable enough, he supposes, for having suffered the departure of her recently found mate.

Castiel opens his arm and she steps into it, but immediately leans towards Dean and ends up squeezing herself between them. When Castiel wants to let go of Dean, he hears a warning rumble and the grip on the back of his coat tightens. Dean presses his arm to his ribs with his elbow, locking him in place. Their eyes meet over Charlie’s head and Dean shakes his head curtly. The effects of what they experienced raging through him, Castiel tries to relax and looks at Dean, because where else is he going to look…?

Dean smiles softly and leans in, eyes twinkling. He pecks a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue flicking out quickly and retreats. His eyes are liquid pools of warmth, exuding calm.

Castiel’s churning emotions come to a stuttering halt. It’s brief, he can sense that much, but the effect is no less impressive for it. He sniffs a little, in search of Dean’s state of mind and finds the mental equivalent of floating on his back on the waves. He lets out a long, slow sigh, completely fascinated. Part of him is scampering to understand what happened to Dean mere moments ago.

An echoing sigh comes up from the warmth between them. His eyes fall to the top of Charlie’s head with interest and he sees some of the tension seep out of her as she burrows deeper into their embrace.

“This is nice,” she mumbles, voice muffled.

His heart clenching painfully, Castiel brings a hand up to the back of her head and plants a kiss on top. “You wanna join our tent?”

She snickers childishly. “I think I came close enough to your tents, thank you.”

Dean quivers and tries not to laugh, but fails miserably. His teeth flash white as he joins in with a helpless chortle. “Oh, _by the Morrigu,_ I adore you, Charlie.”

“Sleeping tent,” Castiel snaps, but his mouth quirks up in a half-smile anyway.

“Hey, look, Charles, we made him crack a smile.”

“You made him do a lot more than just smile.”

Castiel lets out an exasperated sigh but he’s grateful for the blush her words bring to Dean’s face. He tries to frown at her, but she stays burrowed in their chests. Dean cards his fingers through her hair with such tender care, he might as well be doing it to Castiel, for the calming effect it has. It’s deeply mystifying, the embrace he finds himself in. His eyes catch on Dean’s lips and he frowns, when the calm he experiences shivers under the strain of his thoughts picking up speed.

“Mkay,” she mutters while she rubs into his chest and tilts her head up a bit so her eyes come into focus. “I feel better.”

“That easy?”

She lets out a sweet rumbling sound while she stands on tiptoe and rubs a cheek to each of them. Castiel is quite used to her doing that, but Dean splutters a bit, as she breaks their hug. The chill she leaves behind bothers him and he wants to pull Dean closer, but doesn’t.

“I… I’m sorry I, uhh, interrupted. You two… get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Charlie,” Castiel says in warning. “Pay me some diplomacy on this.”

She snorts inelegantly and her whole body oozes incredulity at his request, though he isn’t sure why. When he persists, she shakes her head in wonder and shrugs. “Yeah, sure thing. And I’ll take you up on that offer so I’ma go move my bedroll.” She taps two fingers to her temple and turns around, looking noticeably pinker in the cheeks.

Castiel doesn’t move, acutely aware of Dean’s proximity and warmth, the rock behind them. He leans into it in search of support and angles himself somewhat out of Dean’s grasp. He looks for words, for anything remotely normal to say, but can’t figure it out. His wolf nudges him towards the most glaring, obvious matter at hand. Keeping his gaze distant, his voice is soft when he speaks.

“Dean, what happened?”

The tremor that runs through Dean registers in his shoulder and arm, and every other part they’re still touching. Dean shifts his weight, arms coming up to cross in front of his chest, while he clears his throat.

“I.. I don’t know. I mean, I have an idea… A few maybe.”

Castiel’s chest aches and his heart lurches at what’s coming off Dean and he wonders how Charlie could stand being so close to them. But his worry grows as he remembers how terrified Dean looked underneath him. He doesn’t know what he did, but he loathes that he got him to that point. Whatever this mess is, it’s bad enough without setting each other off. So gently he extends a sense of reassurance to him.

Dean flicks his gaze to him, a soft frown knitting his brow together. “I… I’ve been alone. For a really long time, to be honest.”

Castiel thinks he can taste loneliness on his tongue. He is trying to catch up to what Dean’s saying, sliding the pieces of behavior he’s shown together with the words and implications. In truth, he’s stunned at the honest answer he’s given, because it’s more than he’s offered Dean.

“That and I remember a time when a tumble could just be that. Something spontaneous and fun and hot… I miss… I miss not having presented. I miss the fun I could have any which way I wanted without guilt or shame or expectations.”

“What did I do?”

The question takes them both by surprise. Dean side eyes him, unsurely, when he wipes a hand over his mouth and shrugs, awkwardness apparent in his whole body. Castiel grimaces and ducks his head.

“Nothing, I think,” he says on a pensive frown. “But I haven’t done _this_ … in a good while.”

“Neither have I.”

Curiosity gets the better of him, in light of all he’s seen from Dean so far.

“So I… overwhelmed you?”

Dean balks slightly, a blush on his cheeks. “Maybe. No more or less than I did you at the springs.”

There’s a bite to his tone that has Castiel smiling, because it’s so juvenile, betraying that the Alpha is back in the game with that salty reply. Castiel decides not to push the matter. If he does, he has to elaborate on his own.

“I… I understand what you mean. I think. About presenting.” Castiel winces as he tries not to remember, fails and it suddenly hurts. So much, he presses a hand to his chest in an attempt to mute it, drown it out. Dean leans in, subconsciously so, draping his warmth to his side. “I may have forgotten myself. Being so focused on what needs to change.”

“But that’s good. Right? Cause it does.”

“It does.”

“For everyone’s sake, but I suppose for the cubs most of all. Your Claire. Kevin, Charlie. Sam’s cub to be. I want to be an uncle and know that whatever that kid gets up to, they’ll be safe. However they present, whoever they love, whatever they’re into.”

For the first time since meeting Dean, Castiel lets the reality of him wash over him. He hears the delicate way he lets slip that he knows about Claire, but it seems inadvertent. The genuine truth trickling through his words, the threads of love and stubborn commitment weaved in, are too much to wish away or ignore in this moment.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief and he leans in, his hair tickling Castiel’s forehead as he studies him. “Hmm? What for?”

“For reminding me of the real reason for all this. For giving it voice when all I could hear was, well, my own head.”

Which is more of an admission than he expected to confess to.

“That’s not how Sam tells it. But you’re welcome.” Dean swallows and fidgets. “And I get you want to tell your story on your own terms. But if it’s important for what’s going on…”

Castiel feels miserable and he wants to tell him. He does, but he can’t get the words out. Because all of a sudden it becomes painfully clear, he doesn’t want Dean to know in intimate detail and see the fond expression in that beautiful face change into one of disgust.

“I… I know,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I… I just don’t feel safe anymore.”

He grimaces at the vulnerable admission and feels Dean’s eyes on him. He is looking at him carefully, as if he’s a wild animal that might break into a run any moment, which granted isn’t an entirely out of place fear. There’s a quiet expectancy in his body language and eventually he nods softly when Castiel doesn’t offer more.

“Let’s get our pack together,” Dean says, while he turns and grabs one of the baskets.

Castiel follows suit, relieved for something to do, because residing in this energy with Dean is exhausting. As he follows him back to the fire, he realizes this is the first time anyone’s referenced to their group by that moniker. It’s oddly soothing.

A soft curse floats his way.

“What?”

“You ripped my leathers.”

Dean shoots him a stern look over his shoulder, but there’s a heat in his scent that flusters Castiel. “I can fix it.”


	18. Steal Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmm? This is going to need stitches. Stay.”
> 
> Dean grumps at him. “I think I am starting to see the problem with direct orders without a valid reason.”
> 
> “Your tendency to disregard your own wellbeing is a valid reason,” he says while he walks to his cubbyhole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next took their titles from [Steal Away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4o875fwWtA) by Murder By Death. I used quite a few of their songs.
> 
> Also, finally, yes. Something. A sliver. Tag says 'slow burn', in case you missed it.
> 
> The art! It pleases my soul. I'd like to live there and Lotrspngirl informed me that it is based on an actual cave in Greece.
> 
> Feel free to drop me a comment, if something touched you along the way.
> 
> Love,  
> Mal

At the rear of their group, Castiel looks ahead. Dean raises the torch higher, his sword in his other hand. Baby is behind him, carrying more gear than she ever has before, including Sam’s cauldron. Munin is on his shoulder. He catches a flash of skin where he ripped his leathers and frowns. Once the decision came to move the pack, things went fast and he hasn’t been able to sit down to repair the damage. He chews his lip at the memories it drags up, so vibrant and fresh in his mind.

“Alright,” Dean says. “Stay close. These caves aren’t void of life, but the odds should be in our favor, considering the size of our pack.”

There it is again, that word.

“Meaning what?” Kevin asks.

“Meaning that we picked up a vamp scent for a minute, but he’s gone. So whatever lives here prefers easy prey,” Bobby says, waving his axe around. “And we ain’t that.”

“Let’s go.”

Dean spearheads the journey, torch in hand, flanked by Bobby and Karen. Sam, Eileen and Lee are behind them. As Gadreel takes out his long sword, he double-checks his own weapons are in place. He steadies Charlie, when she almost stumbles, because she keeps looking back.

“Focus, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” Charlie mumbles.

She looks at the toothy outline of the cave mouth far behind them, the light catching in her eyes, and then to the darkness ahead. Kaia grabs Charlie’s hand with both of hers, pressing her cheek to her wrist. He can’t fault either of them for their reluctance, as they’re all quite accustomed to having the skies overhead.

“I still can’t believe we left all our stuff behind,” Kevin says.

“I don’t blame you,” Karen says. “It’s a bit disconcerting to be below ground.”

“The vote was unanimous,” Dean says from the front.

“Oh, really,” Meg says, tone lilting up sarcastically. “I don’t recall getting a vote. Rich coming from the lot of you.”

Though she doesn’t sound too put out when she shoots Castiel a wink.

“ _If you don’t like it, the door to the cave is back there_ ,” Eileen snaps.

“Look, you have no stake in our fate,” Sam says, audibly uneasy. He’s ahead of them, behind Dean and Bobby. “But you’re with us either way, potentially putting us at risk. Forgive us for not letting your opinion decide where we go next, considering we want to vanish for a while.”

He looks at Castiel when he says it. It doesn’t sit quite right with either of them, the way they excluded Meg, though the reasoning makes sense. Dean and Bobby seem to have less qualms about it, and the same goes for Gadreel and Eileen.

“No one knows where I am,” Meg says. “So I am putting exactly no one at any risk whatsoever. No more than Alpha up there by taking us underground.”

Somehow the derisive slur at Dean’s expense irks him.

As they leave all forms of daylight behind, Dean looks back, taking stock of the group. Castiel sees his eyes skitter over their heads, counting. “Cubs alright, Cas?”

Claire squeezes down on his right hand, Patience ahead of her. The whites of their eyes are large in the flickering torch light.

“They’re okay,” he replies, willing some of the nuance about their well-being into his answer.

If Dean catches it, he doesn’t give it away, as he turns and leads them deeper into the caverns.

“And the fire equipment. And the cart,” Kevin adds in the silence that falls.

“Alright, alright, we’re all aware this is unusual and bloody uncomfortable,” Bobby grumbles. “But if you’d rather set up in the rain and risk discovery, be my guest.”

“It might help if we knew where we were going?” Meg asks.

Castiel rolls his eyes in annoyance. “It might help if you ceased questioning his moves at every turn.”

“Yeah, shut up,” Claire says. “Dean knows the way.”

A few laughs echo through the caves and even Meg turns amused eyes to his daughter. “Does he now, little one?”

Charlie nods. “Of course he does. He’s traveled nearly everywhere.”

“That’s a bit much, Charles.”

He smiles at the audible shyness in Dean’s voice at such blatant trust. It is with bemused concern he notices a similar sense of trust warming him from within, albeit a lot less blind. Somehow he feels he’s got the better end of the deal that way, but he can’t quantify why.

They’ve been walking for what feels like hours. Without the sun or moon to judge by, it’s hard to say, but his senses are quite equipped to make an estimated guess.

Sam’s voice floats over his shoulder. “Are you sure about this, Dean?”

He glances back and nods. “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but yeah, I am.”

It may be time to take a rest, if it isn’t for the same scent he caught when they first entered the underground. He nudges Bobby.

“Take a sniff.”

“ _Balls_.”

“Are they back?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Get the cubs in the middle. They’re closing in on us.”

“Vamps,” Bobby says. “The one we smelled at the entrance must have gone to get others.”

“I was hoping our numbers would discourage them.”

“What?” Lee asks behind them. “What is coming?”

“Is something coming?” Kevin pipes up.

“Youngins in the middle! Gadreel, Cas, incoming!”

They move swiftly and he hears the rush of way too many bodies moving at supernatural speed, skittering through the dark.

“Go for the head!” he yells. “Decapitate them!”

He turns on his heels, sinking down low, sword up. 

With a caw, Munin takes off from his shoulder into the dark overhead. Feeding on his energy, Baby charges at the first vamp that shows its head and rears up, her hoof caving it in with a satisfying crack. A second vamp runs up underneath her and he swings low, slicing through its gut, but it keeps coming.

They’re fast and vicious, and for a moment he fears he made them walk to their own graves. Then he sees Gadreel and Cas step up, moving in curious sync, as if they trained together. He has one heartbeat’s worth of time to appreciate the beauty of Cas going for the throat, while Gadreel comes in low, before a vamp claws at his face and he’s caught up in the whirlwind of battle.

The numbers are off though and he wonders where they keep coming from.

He sees Eileen take a bad hit to the stomach and hears Bobby’s endless pained cursing, when he too gets hurt. The cubs, he thinks, the cubs are here. What was his plan…? He leaps between two vamps, slicing one’s achilles’ heel, sending it tumbling into the other one while he rushes ahead to draw attention.

Charlie’s standing her ground with a shortsword held with both hands, face pale in the erratic light of the torches. Her hands are trembling, but her instincts are good when she moves. Behind her he sees Kevin and Patience. Dean kicks the legs out from under a vamp that’s sneaking up on her and chops its head clean off before it hits the ground. Charlie startles when the blood hits her, momentarily distracted and Dean sees another one leap for her from the other side.

He yells, reaching out, but he knows he’s too far away, as he runs. Next thing he sees is Charlie going down, but the vamp sinks its claws into Kevin. The roar Charlie lets out puts some of the Alphas Dean’s known to shame while she sinks the sword into its eye socket. He makes it to them, pulling the vamp off Kevin.

“Kev! Kevin,” Charlie yells, scrambling towards him on her knees.

“Check for his breath, Charles,” he says, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

That’s when it catches his eye.

A cavernous mouth of mist.

He’s seen it once before today. And back then it saved his life.

“Sammy!”

“I’m okay,” Kevin winces. “Oh, shit, is that my blood?”

“Up, upupup, kid,” Dean snarls. “We gotta go. SAM! We’re going!”

Sam looks to him, one arm around a snarling Eileen, his bloody axe in the other.

“Go? Go where?”

“In there! The mist! Run!” he barks.

“We don’t know what’s on the other side!” Sam yells.

“I remember this,” he snarls. “Trust me! Go through! Now!”

He all but bodily hauls Kevin on his feet and towards the mist, shoving a crying Patience in his arms.

“Everyone! Move!”

Despite clearly being hurt too, Lee catches on, as does Karen and they start forcing their group to move, cubs first. Dean turns back to the vamps, screeching and lunging at them. Gadreel grabs one by the throat, nails digging in mercilessly. His eyes almost look like they’re glowing with a pale blue light. Another makes to attack Gadreel. Dean surges forward, but he’s not fast enough and claws sink into his flank, too low for his ribs to take the brunt of it. Gritting his teeth, he knocks his elbow into its chin, slices its throat and backs away, half stumbling. 

He bumps into Baby, who pointedly refuses to give way as he tries to shove her through the mist. She rears up, heavy hooves lashing out. Cas is by his side in an instant, grabbing her bridle and, after a quick moment of holding eye contact, vanishes through, pulling her with him.

“Munin!” A sharp caw while his crow flits over his head and after his horse.

Dean is the last to stumble through the mist, clutching his hand to his side. He spins around, sword ready. Voices register, but the words don’t. Adrenaline courses through him, as he waits, expecting fanged faces and clawed hands to cut through the fog any moment.

No vamps come through.

Breathing harsh, he holds his ground, disbelief vying with relief at the successful gamble he took. He remembers the last time he went through something like this before. Not in this exact location, because he has no clue where they are, but similar. On a whim and a prayer to The Morrigan, which is why he put it down to dumb luck at the time.

A hand grips him by the shoulder, drawing him out of his hyper-focus. He looks to its owner and finds sapphire eyes, imploring him back to the here and now. Claire is on his arm, face buried in his neck. His lips are moving. Dean lets his eyes fall down to the warm touch and frowns, remembering a few things at once, none of them very sensible with his pack in such disarray.

“Dean…”

“I’m fine,” he says instinctively.

“You’re hurt.”

Dean grimaces and shakes his head, when he starts moving, his blood warm through his fingers. “It’s fine. Cas, we gotta make sure we’re safe before we settle everyone in. Walk the perimeter and…”

His voice peters out when he takes in their surroundings. He gasps, blinking in wonder at the luscious surroundings. Bewildered, he looks to Cas, whose hand is carding through Claire’s hair. They both stare back at the mist, swirling innocuously in the cave’s mouth arching up. Impulsively, Cas reaches out to touch it and Dean is quick to stop him, fingers closing over his wrist.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispers.

Cas rubs his fingers together, eyes glued to the mist, brow pinched together, mirroring as much confusion as Dean feels. As all of them must be feeling.

He looks back at the group, finding the pack members either standing still or turning on their axis in awe. Their breathing is harsh in the not-quite silence and he registers Kevin comforting a crying Kaia. Bobby’s holding onto his arm and he’s sure he saw Eileen and Lee take a hit.

The amount of _green_ is striking. They are steeped in it, along with a cocoon-like warmth, much warmer than the caves have been so far. The ceiling is higher than it was on the other side. It’s so high, he wonders how _deep_ underground they went without any of them noticing. Strangely, a beam of sunlight falls in from above, through an opening he can’t even see from down here. It reflects on the surface of the spring to their left. Whatever is up there is overgrown, gnarly roots sticking out from the rock, strands of soil, dirt and plant holding everything together. A waterfall of plant life falls from there, meandering across the rock until it dapples out in patches.

Specks of dust play in the light, which naturally lands on a set of almost stair-like rock formations and… an altar at the far end of the cavern. Behind it, carved into the rock, are nooks crannies that look like graves, except they’re empty. He glances around and finds no other exits at first glance. For a horrid moment, he fears that whoever or whatever is supposed to be in those graves came back to life, but then the scent hits.

Through the myriad of sweaty, terrified, hurt scents of his pack, he catches the reassuring reality of this place. Warm sunlight. Wet fertile soil. Fresh water. Healthy plant life. Even a vague whiff of small mammals who have taken up residence.

Charlie looks at him, eyes shining bright. “Dean… What is this?”

He can’t find his voice, so he just shakes his head in mute reply.

“It’s beautiful,” Karen says. “Did you know?”

The uncertainty and fear from the others wafts towards him. At that second blatant request for answers, he clears his throat. A pang of pain shoots through his abdomen when it flexes in the process. “I… I’ve gone through something similar once before, when I was hunting ghouls and well, was about to become dinner.”

“Are you telling me you’ve done this before, Dean Winchester?” Meg asks.

He frowns at the use of his full name and shrugs her scrutiny off, though the incredulity oozing off her slender frame speaks volumes.

“Got lucky,” he says on a shrug. “Alright, let’s walk a perimeter with those who aren’t hurt. Who needs care?”

“He does,” Karen says, gesturing at Bobby. “I’ll set up care.”

“I am fine,” Bobby grunts. “Eileen got hurt.”

Without so much as giving Bobby or Eileen more time to object, Karen gets to work.

“So that’s where you get it from,” Castiel grumps.

Dean carefully ignores Cas’ remark, though the corner of his mouth quirks in amusement at the moody tone. He looks at the cubs, pressed close together. Kaia’s stopped crying, but the emotions coming off them are vibrating at a high frequency.

“We need people on cub duty and unpacking.”

“On it,” Charlie and Kevin say in unison.

To his surprise, Lee steps up too. “I’ll join.”

“You’re hurt too,” Gadreel protests.

Lee waves it away, moving his arm recklessly to make a point.

“Sam, you good to take Meg and scout the left?”

“Oh, now I’m supposed to do my part?”

“Yes,” Sam says on an eye roll. “We’re good.”

“Alright. We’ll take the right.”

He gestures at Cas and Gadreel, who almost immediately fall into step close behind.

“Technically you’re hurt too,” Gadreel points out. “From the smells of it.”

“Don’t make him say it again,” Castiel sighs. “He’ll just ignore you as he does most everything else that is remotely sensible.”

Something wisps through Cas’ scent and he’s not sure what to call it, but the words remind him so much of Benny and his perpetual annoyance at his tendency to disregard what anyone tells him to do. “You sound like my almost Alpha.”

He swears he can feel the stunned reaction from Cas and the hairs in the back of his neck rise at the warmth spreading. When he hears a soft scuffle, he risks a quick glance only to find Gadreel grinning like mad, before Cas shoves him off balance. For once, Cas isn’t glaring at him, but what his face is doing exactly, he can’t say.

All he knows is that it’s a most wonderful sight.

The moment passes when they find an exit in the very back of the cave that splits three ways. “Huh…”

“We’ll need to explore these,” Gadreel offers. “Maybe in pairs? You two…”

“Let’s first check in with everyone,” Cas cuts him off.

He doesn’t wait for the answer.

As he fumbles with their belongings, Castiel’s mouth is still dry and he’s sure his brain is on temporary leave.

_His almost Alpha?_

He doesn’t know what to say or do with the information. So he focuses on his stuff and their surroundings.

Besides the misty barrier, the one exit they found splits into three. It looks and smells different than the ones they came from. Lee joins Gadreel down the left path. They eventually return with several rabbits and various root vegetables, both of which they found in another, smaller cavern down the middle path, which connects to the left.

He and Dean make a run of the right side, finding a small, hot spring tucked away. The grin Dean sends him at the inevitable memory is annoyingly charming, but he keeps walking without missing a beat. There is a gentle hint of moping in Dean’s scent after that, which has Castiel smiling against his better judgement. It’s juvenile, not cute.

All paths lead back to their starting point.

This place… This cave they quite literally stumbled into is near-to perfection. He is hesitant to use the full hyperbole, because… Because, well, things rarely are in life. But the group falls into comfortable behavior surprisingly smoothly. More so than they did outside.

The paths are clearer, brighter, dipping and climbing in seemingly random, endless twists and turns, before – eventually – all leading back to the cavern with the altar. There’s no way in or out, unless they go through the mist. Or up. But that distance is ridiculous and the cavern walls unclimbable.

The things he first pegged as tombs turn out to be some kind of sleeping quarters, each tilted and tucked away into the sturdy rock, providing a strange sense of privacy. Whoever once inhabited this place carved out space for personal items and even a candle-holder at the head of each nook. There’s nothing left in terms of blankets, aside a few pieces of nearly disintegrated fabric. An occasional broken mug or pot aside, they’re empty. On the left side of the entrance, where Sam and Meg scouted, is a second alcove with sleeping quarters and a small spring.

When wounds are tended and cubs are playing, Karen and Charlie get a fire going in the circle-shaped fire pit that’s at the center, outlined by perfectly smooth round rocks.

It doesn’t take long before they start to claim territory, rolling out bedding and ditching armor and weapons. Unpacking their belongings, they lay out bowls and cutlery near the fire. They fill buckets with fresh water that cascades down one side of the cavern and vanishes in a barely there gap in the ground. Which is technically, he supposes, another exit, but no one will fit, not even Claire.

He picks a cubbyhole in the middle, because it connects to the one beside it, where he sets up Claire and the cubs. He folds and tucks his coat at the head of his bedroll. With a relieved sigh, he tugs at his shirt, letting air in. A wash would be a good idea, but with Dean’s hot spring grin burning against his retinas, he lets the idea slip away. Perhaps later, when everyone is asleep.

He leans against the rock, its surprising warmth seeping through his shirt and looks around.

There’s an inexplicable sense of safety to these surroundings, like it’s tangible in the dust gently floating in the light and reflecting on the surface of the water. But there’s an intangible, dreamlike quality to it that has him frowning and looking closer how everyone fits within it so naturally.

To his left and right, most of them are choosing their nest, the yips and scents of territorial behavior getting heavier on the air, but in that infuriating, soothing, familiar way of… of family, almost, if he didn’t know any better about the water of the womb. If it wasn’t for Claire, but then she is the exact reason he does.

He catches sight of Dean at the small spring on the far end. Dean’s in the process of cleaning and sharpening his weapons. But every few heartbeats he grimaces. A quick and subtle tugging down of the corners of his mouth. He lets out a gentle huff and looks closer, paying attention to the subtleties of his body language. He’s good at hiding, Castiel concludes, even more so in the way he moves with utter focus and determination to divert attention away from something else. But he catches it bleeding through all the same.

Pain.

The sight elicits a peculiar blend of aggravated partiality, though he can’t tell if he’s annoyed at Dean’s behavior or his own reluctant fondness. He tries to ignore the continued fidgeting, wondering if Dean’s doing it on purpose or plain distracted. For want of something to do, he applies his blocker, because there is no need to be an idiot any more than he already has been. Grabbing some bandages and cloth, he walks up to Dean, fed up with watching him shift and squirm uncomfortably, ignoring his wound. He also can’t stop thinking about Dean’s ' _almost Alpha'_ , although he has a sinking suspicion it is meant to draw him out.

Which is working.

“Sit up.”

With a jolt, Dean closes his fist tighter around the whetting stone and glares up at him. One eyebrow arches up, but the effect is largely lost because he winces. “Excuse me?”

“I said, sit up, Dean. You’re hurt.”

With a scoff, Dean looks down at his side. There’s a patch of darkened blood and a rip in his undershirt through the gash that was already in the leathers. With a shrug, Dean puts the whetting stone aside and rests the sword in his lap, elbows on his knees. “’s Just a scratch.”

He resists the urge to manhandle Dean onto his back, but barely. “You stubborn pup. It needs to be taken care of. You know this or you would not have survived on your own for so long.”

Running a hand through his hair in a curious back-to-front gesture, Dean gives him a wiseacre look. “Actually, you’d be surprised what our bodies can take.”

He exhales through his nose, infuriation intensifying. “You _would_ know. Surprisingly so do I.”

A quick flicker of empathy, as his brows knit together, searching Castiel’s face, trying to pry the information out of him mutely. Then Dean licks his lower lip, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “May I also point out, I only got this wound because someone fucked up my leathers.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, schooling his features to neutrality, because the guilt spikes through him all too easily, even if Dean’s tone is teasing.

“Exactly,” he amends. “Time for me to fix it. So sit and strip.”

He gapes for a moment, Castiel allowing his eyebrow to rise, until he thinks he sees a blush creep up Dean’s neck. Dean grumps, looking away. “Gee, Cas, you’re making me feel tingly, taking control like that.”

Despite the taunt, he puts his sword aside and starts undoing the fastenings at his sides, scowling when the pain hits. Squatting down, Castiel purses his lips, but it slips out before he can give it too much thought.

“Oh, I know,” he says, tone even.

He smirks softly when Dean’s gestures stutter for a moment and the younger shifter’s scent does something delightful. A delectable swirl of curious desire, which Castiel really should ignore. Another soft snort and Dean dismisses it, in favor of the task at hand. He swallows, acutely aware he isn’t immune to Dean wiggling out of his leathers. His fingers itch to help, but he refrains from doing so. Instead he sits down next to him and sets the bandages down on one of the rocks.

“It looks worse than it is,” Dean mutters.

He holds his tongue and dips the cloth in the warm water, refocusing on the wound and becoming all too aware of the soft edges of Dean over his belt. Dean lets out a soft huff, so he looks up and finds emerald eyes, hooded in… almost self-consciousness, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Curiosity peaks at that unexpected sentiment, so for a moment he can’t look away.

Dean is entirely too beautiful, he thinks, while he looks back down, his own core swirling with something slow and comforting like warm honeyed mead.

“May I?” he asks, gaze caught on the wounds.

“… Sure, Cas.”

He scoots closer and senses Dean lean in, his breath audible… tangible if he wants it to be. In careful, measured gestures he wipes the wound clean of dried blood and dirt. Eventually three deep gashes are revealed, fresh blood oozing out of them. The jagged edges of the wounds look angry, which probably means they got infected. He wrinkles his nose in resigned displeasure.

“What is it?” Dean asks and he can hear the eye roll.

“Infected, what else? Their claws carry some natural poison…”

“I’ll be…”

“I swear, if you say ‘fine’ one more time…”

“What? What’ll you do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to fucking find out,” he snaps before he can think better of it.

Dean hisses through a dark chuckle. “Well… If you’re offering, I’d love to.”

He applies more pressure to get the dirt that’s deeper out, keeping his face neutral though his insides knot up intensely at the casual suggestion.

“Hey!” Dean protests.

“Stop being so…” he falters, because the word ‘pup’ is starting to lose its potency around Dean. It doesn’t suffice.

“I thought you came over to help.”

That stills him into introspection for a moment, unpleasantly surprised by his own behavior. He rinses the cloth out in the water, Dean’s blood swirling and dissipating under his hands. When he touches him again, he leans closer to be able to see and ensures his approach is gentler, willing reassurance into his scent.

“Oh, that’s nice, Cas, keep that up,” Dean sighs and this time he feels the warmth of his breath near his temple.

“Hmm? This is going to need stitches. Stay.”

Dean grumps at him. “I think I am starting to see the problem with direct orders without a valid reason.”

“Your tendency to disregard your own wellbeing is a valid reason,” he says while he walks to his cubbyhole.

It takes a bit before he locates his sewing kit in one of too many pockets. Passing by the fire, he squints at Charlie’s somehow both sleepy yet beaming smile and takes a burning piece of wood with him. When he returns to Dean, he rams it between two rocks around the spring so it’s upright.

“Lie back.”

With a bit of a dramatic sigh, Dean scoots around on the floor and does as he’s told. Blood seeps from the wounds, but it looks bright and clear.

“So many orders today. Are you even an Omega?”

He tenses, annoyance wafting up through his scent between them when he holds the needle in the fire. “Rude.”

“Cas… I swear, you’re ruder than most of us combined. And coming from me, that’s saying something.”

“I have good reason,” he says, while threading the needle.

He also wants to point out that’s mostly Dean’s effect, but knows it’s only a partial truth. The Nomads consisting primarily of Omegas and Betas makes for an easier dynamic. They don’t need to worry whenever someone hits their heat. Better yet, sometimes when a few of them sync up, it evolves into a soothing cuddle pile.

It’s simply Alphas that draw it out of him. Or entitled pricks in general.

Which to be fair, Dean has proven not to be. So he gives in somewhat, as he lays his hands on Dean’s skin. The parts around the wound are warm, but the rest of him is blessedly cool to the touch. Which is strange, because that’s not how he remembers it. Not on the beach, not at the springs. Curious thoughts as he angles the needle and leans into his softer side.

“I’ve long given up trying to define myself as one thing or submit to expectations.”

Dean licks his lips and tenses when he pushes the needle and thread through his skin to start stringing him back together. “You are you, Cas.”

A soft whine cascades off Dean’s lips, though he seems hardly aware. Whether it’s pain or the conversation, he doesn’t know, though their scents blend stronger around him. He can feel Dean’s gaze on his face and he squints in concentration, while he sews, trying to make sense of a nonsensical reply. “Yes, Dean, I am me. How is that helpful?”

“In that it doesn’t matter what you are,” Dean says, brow furrowed as he squints down at his hands, mesmerized by the thread going through his flesh.

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’re being sewn up,” he says softly.

“Nope, not by a long shot, but probably the first time it doesn’t hurt as much. Must be somethin’ about your hands.”

 _Alright, that’ll fucking do_.

“Are you…” He snatches his hand out to Dean’s forehead and finds it too warm, but perhaps not yet worryingly so. Still. “Maybe you need fever tea.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says, batting his hand away. “I don’t want tea.”

Dean has the audacity to grin when those words prompt a heartfelt glare. He focuses on stitching him back up in silence. Once Dean gets used to it, he settles down on his back and closes his eyes. The wolf within howls in triumph at the trust he’s bestowed, though he himself deems it unwise in its allure.

When he comes to the end of the first gash, he realizes there’s nothing to cut the thread. Before Dean can realize it, he leans over and bites it clean off. It brings him within interesting distance of Dean’s hipbone. He resists the urge to inhale, though every part of him seems to be itching to do so and more. Dean twitches under him, smearing blood on his cheek when he quickly retreats. A hand lands between his shoulder blades for a brief moment.

“Ah, Cas… what?”

“No knife,” he says, voice tight, while he threads the needle once more with ridiculous intent. “Just… lie back. Two more.”

With a gentle chuff, Dean leans back. By the time he’s halfway through the second wound, there’s a soothing rumbling emanating from Dean’s chest.

It should not make him smile, but it does.

Twice more he leans in to bite through the thread. He makes clean work of the stitches, wiping down the bloody mess once he’s done. When he applies a layer of anti-inflammatory ointment, Dean doesn’t so much as stir. For a moment, he wonders if he fell asleep, but on cue moss green eyes open and find his, a question in the way his forehead and eyebrows move.

“Sit up for a bit, so I can bandage you up.”

“Mmh, but napping.”

He _must_ be running a mild fever by now. There’s too much softness. Dean feels so much younger and sweeter like this, when his Alphatude is out for the count.

“On the rock-hard floor? No. Come on,” he insists, as he reaches out and grabs him by the arm.

“Casssss,” Dean grumbles.

He cooperates though, all too smoothly almost, a sulky expression betraying his age. With a gentle nudge to his arms, Dean lifts them, so he can start rolling the bandage around his abdomen until the wounds are covered. “Air them out during the night.”

His voice is a low rumble to his ear. “I know how to let a wound heal.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

He shoots Dean an indulgent look, because it’s almost impossible to remain annoyed when he’s like this and the gratitude swirls warmly between them.

That’s when he notices everyone has settled in and is scattered around the cave. Gadreel is taking care of Lee, who seems to share some stubborn characteristics with Dean, if Dree’s face is anything to go by. Eileen and Sam are cuddled up in their nook. Charlie’s nodding off near the fire. There’s the sound of splashing water coming from the back entrance, so he assumes the others are cleaning up.

Somehow someone moved the cubs, because all three of them are in the cubbyhole _above_ his.

“Claire?”

Her blonde head pops out from the giggling mass of limbs. “Yes?”

“Who moved you there?”

All three girls flop on their stomachs, arms around each other or dangling down the edge.

“Umm… I did,” Claire smiles.

He blinks. His eyebrows must be acting on their own accord, so used to his daughter’s shenanigans that it provokes her into speaking.

“We like to be up here.”

“It’s fun up high,” Kaia adds.

“Also that way there’s room for Dean.”

Dean sounds like he’s choking next to him. He decides to go make tea for the pack. Maybe some of their manners will return by then.

Castiel’s tired, but wide awake, his arm above his head, so he can twirl his hair through his fingers. A soothing habit, which Claire inherited from him, but tonight fails to help him under. Likely because he is all too aware of Dean but an arm’s length away. The lure of his presence is all too tangible. His mind extends to him against his will. He isn’t even trying to fight Dean’s scent anymore, instead letting it wrap around him.

The cave is pleasantly warm, which has him lying on top of his bedroll in his briefs and spare linen shirt. He took to the springs after everyone else did and was able to bathe, in solitude. For all the good that did his mind.

Dean’s voice cuts softly through the quiet of the night.

“Cas?”

A sense of alarming surrender comes over him, because he knows he is no longer able to ignore him. Though he whispers, his voice sounds too loud and a touch alien within the confines of the nook.

“Yes, Dean.”

“… I thought you were asleep.”

“No, you didn’t,” he scoffs gently.

He hears the smile in Dean’s voice, which lands like a melody to his ears. “Maybe not.”

His heart thumps slow and steady but a touch louder with every beat, when he listens to Dean move around. Closer. The air around him moves with him. He resists the urge to look, but becomes aware of his warmth. Castiel works his suddenly dry throat, swallowing a few times.

“What is on your mind?” Castiel asks.

“The color of the stars.”

This time, he tilts his head up and finds Dean’s closer than expected, cast in shadows. His eyes twinkle, even in the dark, when he smiles softly. “Dean?”

“You must’ve thought about it, since you’re so fond of them.”

“Perhaps,” he nods. “They appear bright white to us, but who knows what they’re like up close…”

Dean hums and leans forward, resting his chin on his arms, his warm breath ghosting over the inside of Castiel’s wrist. Sensitive. “What about the parts in between?”

He laughs gently as he settles back in, his gaze going through the rock while he calls up a night sky. Squinting, he focuses on the in-between, which tends to reveal itself as dark. He doesn’t believe it’s like that out there. Not black, but darkened. Ultramarine, violet, carmine. Everything in its deepest, most peaceful shade, blending and shifting. And quiet. Blissfully quiet. A quiet that extends to the mind. Like sinking under water in a massive lake with no one else around.

“Cas… Don’t stop. I can almost see it.”

It isn’t until then that he realizes he said it all out loud.

And Dean’s fingers are brushing against his arm.

He’s instantly at a loss for words, so he shifts his arm into the touch, hoping it’ll make up for the silence. A few blessed heartbeats, they remain like this, until some of Dean’s lazy restlessness extends to him.

“What’s keeping you up, Dean?”

“I could ask you the same.”

He gives an amused snort at that and closes his fingers over Dean’s wrist, applying gentle pressure. “You could.”

Perhaps the blanket of night makes things easier for them, because Dean shifts closer still. “I… I feel like people keep slipping away from me.”

An odd sentiment, seeing as their pack is all around them, quite literally curled up with each other in the cubbyholes next, under and above theirs. In a den, they’d likely be in a pile.

“We’re all here.”

“I know, but it still feels like I’m losing my grip on something. Cas… It’s unsettling.”

“A lot has happened in the past weeks… Maybe you’re finally able to let some of it sink in.”

Dean hums in not-all-convinced agreement.

“You brought us to a safe place.”

“After I almost got us killed.”

“Dean.”

“It’s true.”

“There’s equal if not more opportunity for us to get in trouble out there. At least vamps don’t feel a need to force us into submission. They’d just… rip us to shreds, I suppose.”

Dean snorts. “Cheerful, Cas.”

“It’s true.”

“Still not sure if it was the right call.”

“You don’t have a lot of faith in yourself, do you?”

“What are you talking about? I have tons of faith.”

“Uh-hmm.”

Dean lets it slide and so does he, because it’s easier to breathe when they do. They lie in silence for a while, during which he tries to sense his way around Dean’s scent. The self-deprecation adds a sour tang to it, but it seems to dissipate.

“How is your wound?”

“Feeling better, though the stitches are itchy.”

He scoffs. “Don’t make me say the bloody obvious, pup.”

All of a sudden Dean’s hair is tickling his forehead and his scent invades his cubbyhole. “I think that’s the first time you called me that without an edge to it.”

“You feel cold,” he says.

Because he does, which means the tea is likely working, but for all intents and purposes, the way this cave is, Dean should be warm.

“I don’t feel cold. But I might be hungry.”

A weird answer and sulky to boot. “You’re always hungry.”

“I am not. You ate decently today.”

He frowns, both at Dean keeping track of his eating habits and his temperature. “Why are you cold?”

Castiel’s fingers are on his skin, his pulse, twitching in beseechment to move and wander. It must bleed into his scent, because Dean moves in turn and his voice travels on a low whisper.

“May I?”

A curious echo of his own earlier. He is fully cognizant of the request behind those two little words and utterly mesmerized by the blend of impudence and faith, thick in Dean’s voice and fragrance, with a dash of nerves. Even more so of the response this pulls from him, his head at once clear and swimming.

“Yes.”

The briefest moment tilts when Dean twists his arm, flicks his wrist and marks him. He gives it no thought as he returns the gesture and sentiment, though his heart threatens to give out under the implications… the hope beneath every other sordid emotion. He tilts his head up once more.

Dean stares at him. He gestures with his head, chin jutting out and this time he doesn’t even need to hear the words to know the question. Under a bemused exhale, he nods his consent and suddenly Dean is moving, languid like water, as he squeezes through into his cubbyhole. He scoots closer to the edge, so Dean can lie down with his back to the inside of the nook. His arm folds around him when Dean slots all too easily to his side.

Suddenly Dean’s all pure heat and coziness, filling his nose with their soothing blend. His cubbyhole is permeated with the fragrance of a herbal bonfire after a rainstorm. He doesn’t quite know what to do besides wrap his arms around him. Whatever tension Dean was carrying seems to leave him as he melts into the embrace and his own body responds naturally.

“Hey, look,” Dean says on a yawn.

“Hmm?”

“You talked the stars down.”

He follows the lazy finger and smiles.

Fireflies.

He stares at them, until he doesn’t. Because in the crook of his arm is Dean, now asleep, his warm breath tickling his chest. It isn’t very long before he follows him into sleep. It is a blessedly dreamless sleep.

Time slips away from them.

The light falling from above is a constant, its glow present even during night though it seems to dim whenever they go to sleep. It is impossible to tell day from night and without those signals from above, they settle into their own routine.

Dean’s surprised when Castiel makes good on his promise of teaching him that nifty trick. Or trying to. He comes to find Dean, after they get the food going. Hares baking on the hot stones. Sam’s cauldron’s filled to the brim with a rich vegetable and potato stew. He’s not sure where the animals come from, because as far as he can see, there’s no way in or out. Last time he was a lot less aware of his surroundings, but he remembers similar oddities. Right now, it’s giving him and his pack exactly what they need, so he shies away from close scrutiny.

“Want to give it a try?”

He suppresses a smirk, but his eyebrows are giving his thoughts away. “Give what a try exactly?”

Cas points a miffed finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Reel in your Alpha or I’m teaching you nothing.”

Dean lets out a snicker. He gestures helplessly at Cas, arms wide. “I… This is not helping. What are you on about?”

“Shifting with your clothes intact. I told you I’d teach you.”

He jumps to his feet, bouncing a little, excitement spiking through him. “Oh! Yes!”

Cas smiles and lets out a soft huff, as if Dean’s behaviour confuses him. Not entirely out of place, because Dean notices how he loosens up with each passing day. Both of them. All of them, in fact, because the world out there seems so far away, held at bay by the edges of this cave. There’s a within and without, and it’s easy to be here. Within. 

Especially with Cas.

Dean’s not sure about the passage of time in this place, but he gets something much better in return. A freedom he’s missed. Warmth. So much blessed warmth, because after that first time in Cas’ cubbyhole, he crawls in there as often as Cas allows.

Which, thank Morrigan, is often enough to go a long way towards stopping the gaping hole in his chest.

So he has no idea which day it is, when he gets something he hasn’t experienced since he was a cub.

A genuine puppy pile after a night spent enjoying good food, howling and exchanging stories. Good ones. Evocative ones. Even as he listens and howls and sees the faces of his pack lit up by the flames and laughter, part of him wonders if he isn’t forgetting something, but then he feels Cas’ warm presence right next to him and he leans into it.

Claire’s pressed between their legs, one arm wrapped around a thigh each.

And somehow, when darkness falls, the fire dwindles down, luring them into sleep. Dean wakes once during the night, because his olfactory senses are overwhelmed, even in his dreams. Only to find himself within the safe embrace of Cas’ strong arms, Claire in the blanket hammock between them. Beyond Cas’ shoulder, he can make out the bright shine of Charlie’s locks. Behind him, he becomes aware of Sam’s warmth, entangled with Eileen. Dean closes his eyes and senses further, their various scents delicate tendrils of smoke, intertwining in the air and all around them, like heavy, warming furs.


	19. No Place For Us To Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is staring up at the beam of light falling inside, when he sees a small dark form flit through the underbrush. Its trajectory is rickety, as if its wings aren’t fully cooperating. For a moment it plummets before its wings expand and it catches itself and clutches on to one of the lowest branches.
> 
> “Dean, is that your crow?” Castiel asks.
> 
> Before Dean can pay his words heed, he sees a blonde shifter, worse for wear, stumble through the mist and fall to his knees.
> 
> From the back entrance a bloody, second shifter walks in, disoriented and babbling.
> 
> “What the hell?”

Three signs breach the peace at the same time.

They’re sitting in a cluster near the fire. Dean is on the floor, his flanks pressed into Castiel's thigh. Meg and Eileen are practicing sword fighting with Charlie and the cubs. Bobby is resting in Karen’s lap. Lee and Gadreel are shoulder to shoulder, skinning hares. No one knows where the animals keep coming from, but there’s ample provisions when they look for them. On the far left side, Kevin and Sam are staring at the wall and taking notes, trying to make sense of the drawings and script, etched into it.

Castiel is staring up at the beam of light falling inside, when he sees a small dark form flit through the underbrush. Its trajectory is rickety, as if its wings aren’t fully cooperating. For a moment it plummets before its wings expand and it catches itself and clutches on to one of the lowest branches.

“Dean, is that your crow?” Castiel asks.

Before Dean can pay his words heed, he sees a blonde shifter, worse for wear, stumble through the mist and fall to his knees.

From the back entrance a bloody, second shifter walks in, disoriented and babbling.

“What the hell?”

While Dean gets up, he hears the sound of a sword being drawn, the same time the scent hits him. Which should not be possible. Panic rising within, he looks to Dean and finds him prowling closer to an unfamiliar shifter.

Except for the scent.

And the eyes.

They look like Kelly’s.

“Jack?”

With a rattling breath, Jack passes out.

Instinct is all that drives him. Castiel is on his knees in seconds, gathering Jack up in his arms. His skin is eerily pale, as his head lolls into his chest. When he puts his hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse, too cold to the touch as well. The others come running up to them, his skin prickling unpleasantly at the crowded feeling on top of Dean’s anger that’s lapping at the air.

“Who the hell is he and how did he get in here?”

His voice dips lower, while he bares his teeth up at Dean. “I suggest you curb your tone, Alpha.”

Taken aback, Dean clenches his jaw, his scent swirling with a heightened urge to protect. It goes some way towards understanding him, but Castiel will not allow himself to be addressed that way. He dismisses the others for a moment, holding Dean’s gaze intently, allowing his wolf to bleed through his scent, until Dean casts his eyes down. Barely.

He inhales, body shaking, and wills his dominant side back in line. “He… His name is Jack. We’re related. I thought he was dead.”

“ _He’s wearing Elysian clothes,_ ” Eileen says.

Castiel holds his breath, the soil falling away underneath him when he registers the familiar blue and silver under a layer of dirt and blood. “Yes, I see that.”

Sam bends through one knee, a hand out to touch Jack, so he pulls him closer, shaking his head. “Was he their prisoner?”

 _Like you?_ He hears the unspoken part. In a way he was.

He holds his tongue, allowing the assumption to take root, his focus fully on Jack, breathing shallow within the circle of his arms. Without a word, he lifts Jack up in his arms, the weight of him staggeringly light and walks towards the large cubbyhole he occupies.

“Cas!”

He ignores Dean. He ignores everyone.

Vaguely he hears Gadreel’s voice, when he addresses Dean, though he can't make out the words. Laying Jack down on the bedroll, he tries to organize his mind. His pulse is faint, but it’s there, so he starts assessing the damage. When he hears footsteps, he snarls over his shoulder.

“It’s me, Cassie,” Gadreel says. “Let me help.”

He gives a curt nod, eyes back on Jack, his hands exploring him in search of any damage.

Dean tries not to bark orders at Cas, because right now Cas only has eyes for the kid, whoever he is. So he focuses on the other two intrusions. A bird and a babbling stranger.

“Someone help that one!”

“On it,” Sam yells.

He looks up and finds Hugin in an almost freefall, so he starts running. His bird flaps his wings valiantly, but he’s exhausted or hurt, and tumbles in an erratic pattern, steering himself towards Dean. Dean opens his hands, reaching for Hugin’s legs, sliding his fingers between them, so he can hold onto him without hurting his wings. Hugin frantically tries to take off again, eyes rolling wildly, until he seems to catch on and relaxes in Dean’s grip.

“I got you, buddy, I got you,” Dean coos.

He flips his wrist so Hugin’s upright and watches him settle down, feathers all askew. Between his middle and ring finger, he registers the texture of paper and his heart expands exponentially. It’s as if the world comes crashing down the hole in the ceiling, falling into their safe space in the form of a bird and two unknown shifters.

He peels the note off Hugin’s leg, checking him for damage in the process. Aside a few broken feathers and obvious weight loss, he’s alright. Dean puts him on his shoulder and walks towards Sam.

“Who is it?”

Sam shakes his head, turning the shifter over in his arms. “I… Isn’t this the guy that was with Becky? _Cern’s Horns,_ he looks like shit. What the hell happened to them?”

“I haven’t got a clue, but to have all of this happen at the same time…”

“Is that a note from Benny?”

Dean nods, glancing from Becky’s friend to Cas to the note.

_Brother.  
A day’s voyage off if all goes well.  
We will make land north of the cliffs that look like three gaping mouths.  
Skulking next. Where to? B. _

He has no idea real clue how far off Benny is, but the realization that Benny and his pack made the journey for his sake, and are now out there in hostile lands has reality catching up to him at an alarming pace. His blood is humming in his ears.

It makes no sense, this triple disturbance.

His attention bounces from the note to the unconscious shifter in Sam’s arms, back to Cas.

Jack.

Who the hell is this kid in Elysian garb?

Dean shoves the note in his leathers and advances on Cas. When he pushes into his space and reaches for Jack, Cas tries to hold him, but he’s too fast. Shamelessly, he puts his strength to good use, knocking Cas off balance and grabbing hold of the kid by the neck.

“ **Speak**!”

Jack’s eyes fly wide open while he presses his hands to his temples, his mouth open in a mute scream. The pain in his face is so intense, it has Dean staggering back, only to feel two large hands grab hold of him in his scruff and haul him bodily out of Jack’s reach. The next moment Cas is in his face, teeth bared.

“How dare you! He’s hurt,” Cas roars, shoving Dean backwards.

He takes the assault, tensing his muscles so he remains upright, and grabs hold of Cas’ arms. Whatever Dean thinks is making sense in his head never makes it out of his mouth, because he’s tongue-tied. His Alpha’s on high alert at the intrusions, and besides Benny’s note, none of them are worthy of trust until he can ensure otherwise.

“Cas, I gotta try…”

“No, you don’t,” Cas says, shoving him off. “You have to back off. Let us take care of them. That’s your priority. And if it isn’t, it should be.”

His heart tries to hammer out of his chest in anger or pain, he can’t tell. Cas keeps his hand up, palm out, the universal signal for ‘keep your distance’ and reluctantly, he obeys.

That night, he writes a note back, though he fumbles trying to express gratitude for Benny turning up and eventually settles on doing that in person. 

_Brother, skulking too.  
Follow those cliffs until they turn into the darkest forest with tall weeping trees.  
Ear to the ground for Campbell pack/JW.  
I trust your nose. D._

When he finds Hugin and Munin cuddled up on Baby, he can’t bring himself to break them up just yet. A sentiment completely out of place and unlike him, he believes, or it should be, the way he was raised. Yet every time his hands make to pry Munin away from Hugin, his chest hurts. So he sits with them for a while, feeding them fruit and meat.

He watches Cas settle down on his bedroll on the floor in front of his cubbyhole, Jack taking up the space inside. When their eyes catch across the distance, Dean is quick to look away, because that now hurts too.

He knows their time here has come to an end and with the realization, he feels something else, something important, slipping through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That peace could not last... You knew that. Back into the fray.
> 
> I sarreh, but not really.
> 
> Much love though, as ever,  
> Mal


	20. No Oath, No Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do I get the feeling we were not in control of ourselves?” Sam asks.
> 
> An unpleasantly cold hand closed around Dean’s heart. “What do you mean?”
> 
> “In that cave,” Sam supplies. “We seemed to forget.”
> 
> “Are you telling me what happened in there was… manipulated? Like what… Magic?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title comes from [No Oath, No Spell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSz8T2_zkiY), again Murder By Death.
> 
> They'll get there, I promise. Cas has been through some shit and Dean, well, Dean's our Dean, isn't he?
> 
> <3  
> Mal

They’re finally on the move, seeing and feeling sunlight for the first time in who knows how long. There’s an excited hum on the air, as they stretch their legs, the cubs running around. Except for Claire, who, much to her dismay, is in the cart with Cas, Jack and the unconscious shifter they haven’t been able to wake up. They figured out he was at the Nomad encampment during the Gathering. He belonged with Becky, whose disappearance during the Gathering takes on even more urgency.

Though Claire seems intrigued by the boy who has her dad’s attention, she regularly looks to Dean pleadingly. He stays out of it. Jack still isn’t speaking. And neither is Cas, which is no surprise, but it has become a near constant niggling at his mind.

Dean’s at the front with Baby by the reins, Hugin and Munin flying overhead. His crows stick closer than usual.

“Does anyone have any idea yet what that cave was? Especially since Dean said he’s been there before.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, when we first entered. Well, you said you’d been somewhere similar.”

His memory was working when it came to every encounter with Cas. The exploring of the paths in the back. Cas tending his wounds. Cas painting the world with his words. Marking. Cuddle. Everyone piling around them, like it was the natural way to be. The genuine pack feeling he’d had. Except nothing made full sense. And Cas was quiet again, retreating from him.

Sam’s the one who answers. “Kevin and I have been thinking. Based on what we could make of those wall paintings, we think we went through the veil.”

“Why would it open up for this ratty lot?” Meg asks.

Dean rolls his eyes at her. “What were the stories?”

Kevin shrugs, fighting a brief shudder. “There were a few. One all too familiar about the devil below. I mean, with a few twists here and there.”

“Such as?”

“As far as we can tell, a pack made entirely of Omegas hauled up there in the wake of… some kind of devil grabbing hold of their pack members, driving them to bloodlust?”

“And by others, he means Alphas,” Sam clarifies.

“Some kind of devil? Like a disease?” Dean asks.

“Maybe. We’re not sure. But their world order was upset in ways that was unfamiliar to them.”

“But familiar to us,” Kevin says. “They ran and hid. Must have used some form of magic to protect themselves.”

“Locking themselves away in the process,” Dean says, “Cause that cave seemed self-sustainable…”

Charlie hums uncomfortably. “Does that mean they all died there?”

Kevin shrugs again. “Probably.”

“Dude, we slept in a mass grave?”

_“If you think about it, the whole world is a mass grave really,”_ Eileen puts in.

“Gee, thanks, Eileen. That’s real cheerful,” Charlie squints.

Dean purses his lips. “Any time indication on it?”

“No specifics, but it’s old. Very, very old. Much older than any of our recent ancestors would know.”

“Why do I get the feeling we were not in control of ourselves?” Sam asks.

An unpleasantly cold hand closed around Dean’s heart. “What do you mean?”

“In that cave,” Sam supplies. “We seemed to forget.”

“Are you telling me what happened in there was… manipulated? Like what… Magic?”

“Admit, the animals kept showing up somehow in a closed cave system. So yeah, I am wondering how real everything in there was. We were safe. So safe it feels like it made things easier.”

Dean chews the inside of his lips while those words take root in his heart.

Castiel has successfully managed to let caring for Jack occupy him, but he sleeps a lot. It’s isolating him in ways that are familiar and worrying all at once. For all intents and purposes, he may as well have pulled up white walls around himself and his cubs.

Night is about to fall. They have three small fires going in a triangle, surrounded by their three tents, the cart and horses. He’s glad for the space once more and the stars that will appear overhead soon. With Gadreel off hunting with Lee, he finds himself alone with his thoughts. For all the good it does him, since he has no clue as to why Jack is still alive, let alone roaming tribal lands in his current state or stumbling through strange veiled cave mouths. His focus skips to Dean, who used his voice on Jack without hesitation. It sets his hackles up, but his priorities are elsewhere. Or tied inexorably to it, in that whatever happened to Jack likely stems from a similar entitlement.

He’s loath to leave Jack or Claire, curled up together next to the fire, out of his sight. So he knows he can’t escape when Dean comes to find him. As they make eye contact, he wants to ask him to leave, but Dean hands him a bowl of hot soup. Somehow he’s also precariously holding a fat slice of buttered bread between the bowl and his thumb. He hesitates to accept, because it likely equals accepting Dean’s company. A nudge to his shoulders shoots through his arm to his hand and with a deep sigh at his relentless wolf, he accepts.

He expects Dean to sit down, but he remains standing and his hesitation starts to permeate the air.

For a bit, he waits it out, casting a sideways look at Dean, who is staring at the fire. Willing his muscles to ease up, he forces his exhale longer with each one. Every time he breathes in, he catches more of Dean’s concern and the food. His system responds to the scent of it and he sighs again, this time in contentment as he starts eating, which is of course when Dean decides to break the silence.

“My apologies.”

He raises his eyebrows in a stern question. “For what exactly?” he mouths around the food awkwardly.

Dean’s jaw clenches and he stares hard at the world, as if it is to blame for his own actions. “I should not have used my voice on Jack.”

Dean doesn’t do deception well around him. Nor vice versa, he fears. There’s something shimmering through the earnest apology. Not quite an excuse, but there’s a quality there of something Dean’s sitting on, although he’s dying to say it. He leans into it, while he drinks the soup.

Guilt. He seems to be an expert at that.

Anger. That too.

Stubbornness. He mentally snorts at that one.

Disbelief…?

“Spill it,” he says, which jolts Dean out of his inner workings.

Dean clears his throat. “I… My voice seems healed.”

He hums, as he catches on. “You didn’t know.”

“I know it’s no excuse. The threat from all sides… I guess my… anger triggered it.”

He frowns. It’s difficult to be angry with him when everything about him is so genuine. “So it worked, but because Jack can’t speak...”

Dean winces, as if he picks up on Castiel wishing he could be angrier and he wonders how long before being so sensitive to each other’s moods will tire him out. “I noticed. It seemed to hurt him.”

“I believe so, yes.”

Dean’s eyes fall to Claire and Jack, forehead wrinkled in concern. “How is he?”

“His wounds are superficial or long healed. Most of the blood was old. So physically I believe he is alright, but… his mind seems elsewhere.”

“You said you are related?”

So he did say it out loud. “Yes.”

“Anything we need to know there?”

“Not until he wakes from whatever state he is in and I can talk to him.”

Annoyance ripples through Dean, but he nods and folds his thumbs behind his belt, eyes slipping into a thousand yard stare. He chews the bread slowly. It’s fresh, dark and heavy, which risks keeping him up, because his stomach isn’t used to much anymore. Nor has he been sleeping right, at least not on his own. He quickly shies away from the memory, lest Dean pick up on it.

Dean’s voice sounds light on the air when he speaks, almost frail.

“Did you hear what Sam said earlier?”

“Mmh?”

“About the cave… About what happened in there?”

He takes another, savoring bite from the bread and puts it on his knee. With a curious look at Dean, he pats his hand next to him on the blanket. _What happened in there_ is too much and crystal-clear at the same time, but he missed whatever Sam said. In fact, he’s sure he’s been missing out on a lot.

Dean’s face brightens for a moment and he sits down, legs crossed, a touch closer than necessary perhaps. His chest aches dully. Because sure, he has a fair guess what Dean wants to bring up, but he also knows his center shifted the moment Jack returned to him.

“What did I miss?” he asks, attention focused on sipping from the bowl and not burning his lips or tongue.

Dean huffs while he leans his elbows on his knees, raking his fingers from the back of his head to the front of his hair. “I dunno… Kevin and Sam think we went beyond the veil, whatever that means. And Sam seems to think everything that happened in there was too easy…”

His brow knits together reflexively, because he immediately understands Sam’s sentiment. “Perhaps… it was a safe space, or that’s what it felt like anyway.”

“Yeah, but we were forgetting. The outside. I’m still not sure how many days we lost. Weeks maybe.”

His eyes flutter shut at the memories. They’re not blurred the way he expects them to be, though they are perhaps suffering tunnel vision, since there doesn’t seem to be one without Dean in it. All of them provoke a warm swirling in his chest and his breath stutters for a moment.

“I wonder,” he mutters, finishing off the soup with the last of the bread. “Why does it matter?”

Dean’s lips purse in a harsh line, bringing out his dimples, and his eyes flash in frustration, skittering over his face. When he squints at him in turn, he narrows his eyes too and he’s not sure what to make of the moment.

“Wh… What?” he repeats.

“You’re gonna make me say it.”

“Dean, I… don’t follow. What are you getting at?”

His voice hits lower and louder in the same heartbeat. “That what happened in there wasn’t real, Cas!”

The bowl dangles from his hand for a moment and slips out of his grasp. Dean’s quicker to catch it and looks at him in wonder while he sets it down on the blanket.

“Cas?” he asks, voice tight.

“You’re asking…” His mind catches on and his heart rate ups, along with his temperature, because what can he say?

“Yeah, that,” Dean says ruefully, picking up on his scent.

“Fucking hell, why do I even wear blockers anymore?” he curses.

Dean huffs an uncertain laugh, but it fades quickly and he can see the speed with which his thoughts are firing in the restlessness of his eyes. His scent is dripping with misunderstanding and confusion. And fear, though he isn’t sure why. Until he connects the dots and he can almost see their wolves hovering over them, eye to eye, though he has no idea what Dean’s wolf looks like. 

Sure, they are unusually attuned, which he figures Dean sensed too. He hasn’t given their tendencies much thought beyond how… _interesting_ and unfortunately timed they are. His wolf nudges him and he’s swept up in whitewaters, at once terrifying and tempting in the way he wants to surrender to them and let their cooling warmth wash over him, soothe some of the pain, shield him from the world, because everything about Dean is so utterly, so… so...

The understanding hits as if the sky itself slams down on him.

“Dean,” he mutters. “I… didn’t realize you had no idea.”

“About what?”

And suddenly all his senses are on high alert, because he didn’t expect this. Nor should it be brought out in the open. He’s having trouble discerning between himself and Dean, let alone his wolf, who relentlessly whines at him. An almost physical jolt goes through him, as if his wolf nudges his heart into his throat so he can speak the truth. Howl it, if need be.

“Oh, no,” he protests. “Don’t make me say it out loud now.”

“Say what out loud?”

The frustration is heartfelt, anger flaring all too easily at being left out of the loop.

“Cas! Stop dodging me.”

He snaps at him, eyes wide when he blurts out the words. “Don’t you feel our biology at work?”

He watches Dean’s face with morbid curiosity, not quite believing he never picked up on it, while the disbelief flits across his features and an entirely different, radiant kind of realization lights up his eyes.

_Oh, no._

His lips form an ‘o’, adorable in its mute cluelessness, if the subject matter wasn’t so painful. He’s clever, Dean, but perhaps not too quick on the uptake on some matters. Perhaps it’s his age. It elicits a smile from him.

“We… You…” Dean’s skin tone takes on an interesting shade of crimson, all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s adorable, really.

“Breathe, pup.”

Perhaps it’s an ill-timed use of the nickname, but he’s worried Dean might pass out. Dean’s anger hits once more, while he inhales sharply. He turns towards him, body language opening up and for a moment he thinks Dean might grab hold of him in the upsweep of his emotions.

“I am breathing! You knew all this time and you let me stew in it? Cas, it could destroy us.”

He rises to his feet, Dean hot in pursuit, and pulls him by the arm, away from his sleeping cubs.

“First off,” he hisses lowly, “I couldn’t be sure. I still can’t. It’s not like we have a lot of experience with… that kind of bond. They’re quite rare, so pardon the skepticism on my part that you of all people would be...”

_The one_ , he almost says, but bites his tongue.

“Excuse me? Me of all people. What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignores the pufferfish behavior. “Secondly, I have no interest in letting random biology determine who I should feed...breed or heed.”

Even to his own ears, the words are off, because there are too many close encounters that are proof of the contrary. Dean squints at him.

“Anything else? You do know I can tell when you’re lying, which suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.”

He’s going to be impossible to live with from here on out. “I’m not lying.”

Dean snarls. “Let me fucking rephrase. I can tell when you’re withholding.”

“Tough shit.”

Dean stands taller, rolling his shoulders, and it really shouldn’t draw him in. The wrath is aimed at him, perhaps deservedly so, but he doesn’t want to get roped into this. He steels himself when Dean bares his teeth.

“Fine. If we’re ticking off lists… First off, Cas, you don’t get to decide for the both of us. Second, you still have no clue what I’m really like. Or if you do, you’re ignoring it. You’re too busy making assumptions and brooding.”

“I don’t brood. And now that your opinion is not being asked, consent is suddenly a thing?”

“I won’t force you into anything. I haven’t! It’s not my style. You should know by now. But we could at least talk about what’s going on!”

His wolf chooses this moment to remind him that of the two of them, he is the one who marked Dean without consent. Irritated at his own lack of consistency and indulging in Dean, his focus returns to the _leitmotiv_ of his every waking hour.

“You want to talk? Talk about politics. Do something. Do more. Do. Something. And do not expect me to bow down to my nature and to you.”

“Bow down? It wasn’t you who…” Dean waves a hand, cheeks heating up. “Was it?”

“You can’t even say it, but you’d expect me to?”

“I don’t expect much, Cas, it doesn’t seem to do me much good. I am merely asking for dialogue!”

Castiel stands taller, his temper rising as his wolf gathers his anger to him. And he has that in spades. “Alright. Let’s talk about your tribes who didn’t send Elysium packing the second they walked into The Gathering. You’re the big Alpha’s son, aren’t you? This,” he gestures in the space between them, “should not be your priority!”

Dean glowers and he senses his gut-punch response to the derisive tone. Visibly bristling, Dean snarls at him, scent dripping with anger.

“Please,” he sneers. “Try to cow me into shutting up. Just try.”

Dean’s voice drops lower, like stones being ground up. He yanks his sleeve up, revealing his mark. “Look at me! You think this mark means I am a traditionalist?”

“Pray tell… What does it mean?”

“It’s… an outcast mark,” Dean says. “I… I got kicked out of the pack for a dumb thing I did.”

“You… What? I thought you chose to leave?”

“In part. I knew what I was doing,” he shrugs. “It was the only logical thing to do at the time.”

He studies Dean’s body language and picks out the shame easily enough. There’s more though, something he isn’t telling him, which he supposes is fair.

“My brother’s a Nomad and I’m… I’m… a rogue, a mercenary without a pack.”

“And why is that, hm?”

“Because neither the Tribes nor the Nomads are making complete sense to me,” Dean snaps. “It ain’t the one or the other. Whatever the fuck happened to middle ground? We’ve been here before!”

“Elysium doesn’t do middle ground, Dean! You’re too young to remember, but I do. Jack and Claire need me. Perhaps Sam was right.”

Dean’s hand snatches out as he tries to walk away and clamps down on his bicep. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

He closes his hand around his wrist and finds them equals once more. “Enough of this. I am sorry,” he says, surprising himself, “I did not mean for this to happen, but we don’t control that nor our past.”

“Isn’t the whole point of this that we determine our own future?”

“Exactly, but not if I lose sight of what matters.”

“None of which you need to do on your own!”

“Clearly, but that doesn’t mean I have to do it with you either!”

The rejection hits like a physical blow to the chest and he lets go. Dean swears he sees a flash of red gleam around the blue of his eyes when Cas looks at the sleeping kids. Cas turns his back on him and walks away before he can be sure.

And damn if all of this doesn’t drive Dean wild… In the best and worse ways, if right now it didn’t ache so much. Not because he wants to force Cas, but because he pushes back, exudes wit, character, drive… and some much needed bite. Which isn’t fair to Omegas who step into their role with ease, he knows that, and his instincts to protect them, the pack, are undeniable… Even when he moved on the fringes, it was all he ever did. Protect those who can’t protect themselves.

And he knows Cas is right too. In his gut, he’s always known and it has steered him to a life alone. A painful surge of wanting cuts through him as he tries to get a grip on his reeling mind. He hears Cas’ words echoing and somehow, his wolf braces himself for the challenge he’s presented with. There is work to be done, if he is to clear the air to the point where they can talk without losing track _of what really matters_. He doesn’t know what fuels his conviction. But he damn well delights in Cas and everything he brings to the table.

He flat-out admitted to hiding something and it isn’t Claire, because he remembers letting that kernel of information slip. Turning the information over in his head, he walks back to the fire he shares with Lee, Charlie, Sam and Eileen.

“Whoa…” Charlie says, wrinkling her nose upon his return.

Sam shuts one eye, squinting the other as he leans away from him. “Little domestic?”

“Shut up. Go to friggin’ sleep.”

“ _Yes, Alpha_.”

Eileen’s tongue-in-cheek reply doesn’t land right, but he’s not going to engage that particular conversation. Instead, he collapses on his bedroll and stares up at the stars. When that triggers memories of fireflies and sleeping in Cas’ arms, he turns on his side to the fire. The flames quickly turn blue in his mind’s eyes. So he turns his attention to the next step. Because it beats paying attention to the pain that’s churning and writhing under his sternum, threatening to make him upchuck his latest meal.

An ache sinks into his bones and latches on.

Castiel’s night is restless with lots of dreams that blur into reality every time he stirs from them. Each of them leaves him feeling worse than the one before, a perpetual nausea taking up residence low in his gut. When he genuinely wakes up, it’s golden hour. The first thought that hits him is that he didn’t have nightmares when Dean was in his arms. Then he realizes Gadreel has returned to their campfire, smelling a lot like sex in the woods. Which confuses him to no end.

He grumbles through a yawn. “Oh, you’ve got a scent on you.”

“So do you. What the hell happened?”

“Do you need to ask?”

Gadreel sits on his bedroll and prods the smoldering fire, the embers lighting up. “Kids?”

He glances over to them. Jack’s still conked out with Claire star-fished over his torso. “They’ve slept through the night, it seems. No nightmares for Jack.”

“No such grace for you, in other words.”

“Nope.”

“Claire seems to have taken to him easily enough.”

“She’s been doing that.”

“Can’t argue with her taste now, can you?”

“At least this one’s family.”

Gadreel lets out an explosive grunt. “So have you cooled down sufficiently to talk?”

He groans and rolls onto his back, pulling his knees up to pop his joints. The tension stuck to his muscles in his sleep. “Why do people keep approaching me like I’m difficult to be around? Come to think of it, why does everyone want to _talk_?”

“You’re even moodier than usual lately, Cassie, it’s gonna register. Especially because within our pack, you aren’t always…”

“Yeah, well…”

“If you say ‘ _blame Dean_ ’, I’m gonna…”

He raises his eyebrows high at the unexpected rebuke and stares at Gadreel from his upturned turtle position. “You’re gonna what, Dree?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you are making it harder on him and yourself than it needs to be.”

“You make it sound like it’s your everyday mating.”

“Isn’t it?”

Sitting up, he lets out an almost manic laugh, running a desperate hand through his hair and hangs his head, covering the back with both hands.

“What’s so funny?”

His voice sounds nasal from within the embrace of his arms, as he peeks through the triangle of one. “There is nothing normal about this.”

Gadreel crosses his arms in front of his chest, planting his feet wide. “Indulge me.”

He jabs an annoyed hand in the general vicinity of Dean’s campfire, where he sees Lee’s curling up. No Dean, which briefly distracts him, before he pushes on in his convictions. “He’s an Alpha, for one.”

“So are you.”

“I _was._ ”

“At heart you still are,” Gadreel insists. “What else?”

“He doesn’t need someone like me. I am… well, many things, none of which Dean needs or deserves. He’d be better off with…” He gestures wildly, going over any number of names in his head. “With Lee! Lee would make a perfect fit. He’s the same age, he’s blessedly normal, they get along and he’s clearly into him.”

“ _Hellfire take you_ , as they say here,” Gadreel snorts.

“I’ve been. It didn’t agree with me. Why?”

“A few things at once to be honest, but… First off, shows what you know, because Lee is not into him and is, incidentally, off limits.”

Castiel gapes at him. “I… don’t know what to react to first.”

But when the message sinks in, he softens and it catches up to him quickly. Another glance towards Lee, who is settled down. His wolf floods his system with smug relief for potential competition removed, which is entirely unhelpful and not the point of this moment. Gadreel is. He rises from his bedroll and hugs his oldest friend tight. Gadreel tenses in his arms, but eventually returns the gesture.

“I am glad you found each other… And I am sorry for not paying attention.”

Gadreel claps him between the shoulder blades. “Head. Ass. Just saying.”

“Dree… you’ve been by my side since you helped me escape, even though you have no reason to be.”

“Longer than that, but I see your point.”

They break apart, but remain standing close.

“Exactly. You’re allowed happiness.”

Gadreel’s thin eyebrows rise significantly at those words. “Uh-hmm. Speaking of happiness…”

He narrows his eyes, sensing the stubborn satisfaction wafting off Gadreel. “What…?”

Gadreel inhales, hell-bent on continuing the conversation. “Well… _secondly_ , there isn’t a blocker in the world that can hide what you’re feeling right now. Please tell me you’re not buying into your own bullshit?”

“It isn’t bullshit. There are two different things at play! My… My wolf wants, alright. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your wolf… Are you saying Dean triggers him?”

“I think so. It’s… it’s a bit of a mess in here right now,” he admits, tapping his temple, then his heart. “Or in here. Who knows?”

“Cassie, that’s…”

“Terrifying. Extremely terrifying is what you’re looking for. I understand some of what this is, I am not denying that… I know what it means…”

“Then you know it’s foolish to deny it.”

“I _know_ what it means. My wolf wants to give in so badly, it hurts. But I, fully in control of my senses and aware of everything I bring to the table, truly believe it isn’t the right thing to do.”

“Between you and him hell-bent on doing the right thing, you’re both going to die a slow and lonely death.”

“Doing the right thing, my ass,” Castiel grumbles. “He’s constantly distracted.”

“By you! He joined us, provided safety, he’s been training the others. Charlie sounds like she might convert for him.”

“Charlie was in her heat when she met him.”

“Your senses are on high alert during heat to sniff out knotheads. I’ll believe her. Maybe he wouldn’t be so distracted if you weren’t being such an insufferable, stubborn ass.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and squints at him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, _I_ ’m being dramatic?”

“Dean didn’t even realize what it is.”

“What what is?”

“This… bond,” he grits out. “He didn’t know.”

“So the pup didn’t realize he was being swept away by a true mate bond. Older shifters than him have failed to grasp it. Did you?”

“I thought maybe… mates. Something more profound than your average compatible shifter, I guess. I didn’t consider the possibility of…”

“True mates.”

His lips purse into a tight line. Out loud, it still sounds inconceivable.

Gadreel huffs softly. “Well, even if he didn’t know on a mind level, he’s certainly felt it…”

He cuts Gadreel off, before he can say something wildly inappropriate about Dean’s heart or soul. 

“You _know_ , Dree… You know what happened. What he did to me. It isn’t natural. I can’t trust…” He gestures at his chest, resting his palm over his heart.

“I know you can’t. But _he_ does! Dean trusts you!”

He should be taken aback by the forcefulness in Gadreel, because he usually isn’t prone to it.

“Only because he doesn’t know better. True mates are a fairy tale that has nothing to do with reality. And he is a fool for it either way.” Saying the words out loud tastes like he imagines stardust does. The stuff the world is made of in all its glorious imperfection.

Gadreel pulls at his hair in frustration. “That makes two of you.”

“That’s a given. Are we done?”

“Well, I can’t force you into common sense, can I? If you’re convinced to let a good thing pass you by, what can I do? The whole point of this endeavor is your right to exercise your free will. Even if you’re an idiot while doing so. Too bad Dean doesn’t get a say in it.”

He flinches internally, when the last words hit home and he closes his eyes against them. When he opens them, Gadreel gives a helpless shrug and settles on his bedroll. He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, though his brow remains furrowed.

“Night, Cassie.”

“Sleep tight, Dree.”

He wants to shift into his wolf form and go for a run, but with one look at his sleeping companions decides otherwise. A clammy layer of sweat breaks out in the back of his neck, fanning out through the back muscles. He closes his eyes, rubbing his hands together until his fingertips are too warm and he wants to touch cool skin. His gaze is stuck on the flames, but his attention is drawn outward.


	21. An Old Crow Spoke To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Alpha roars furiously at the display in front of him. Dean all but melts into Benny. Benny, who plants a kiss to his forehead as he wraps his arms around him, Dean almost vanishing in the dark fur cloak.
> 
> That’s no brotherly kiss.
> 
> And even if it were, he’s seen Lucifer bestow similar gestures on relatives…
> 
> Benny’s voice is deep and thick with fondness when he speaks. “Oh, who’s that I smell on you, cher?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following four chapters all have titles from No Oath, No Spell!
> 
> Bennyyyyyyyyyyyy! To the rescue in more ways than one.
> 
> *sprinkles some confetti and provides hugs for those who want them*  
> Yer slightly overexcited Mal

Dean picks up the scent of his mother’s home when they get nearer, which goes some way towards soothing his headache. The Campbell den is burrowed deep in the forest. Their way of life is simpler than The Bunker’s, encased within the trees, becoming part of its surroundings. Baby is trotting a circle around him and Sam, Patience and Kaia on her back with Hugin, cawing, on her rear.

“I can’t believe Dad’s holed up with Granddad,” he says.

“My guess is he didn’t have much to say about it anymore after losing Mom.”

He chuckles, despite the sting of those words. “You think Granny’s in charge now?”

“I doubt it. Dad ain’t the type, but the fact that he had to swallow his pride and come here makes me hopeful.”

“You have a strange definition of hopeful if you’re excited about being in the same room with our father suffering hurt pride.”

Sam scoffs a gentle laugh. “If you put it that way… You have more practice. You go first.”

“Don’t I always?” he quips.

“Hey, Dean!”

He glances over his shoulder at Charlie, who’s driving the cart. Kevin’s splayed on the seat, his head in her lap. Behind them, he catches sight of Cas and Meg, tending the hurt shifter. What little Cas and Karen glean from his condition is that he’s been severely dehydrated, tortured and drugged. Bobby, Karen, Lee and Gadreel are bringing up the rear.

He slows his pace so he’s parallel to the driver’s seat and Charlie gives him a curious look.

“Why doesn’t your granddad hold a place at the Gathering table?”

“He did once. After the war. But he lives out here with his pack or part of them at least. He and Dad never really got along. Technically there’s lots of small packs scattered across our lands, all of them falling within the responsibility of the Tribals.”

“Yeah, I get that, but who decided that? And then why did your granddad get a pass?”

“I… am actually not sure. Probably because he’s…”

“Let me guess,” Cas interrupts. “A bit of an Alpha dick?”

“Welllll,” Sam says, voice tilting higher. “You’re not wrong…”

“ _But your Grandma left him to live with you guys. So it can’t be all bad,_ ” Eileen puts in.

“She’s a Beta… and by that time, kids were had,” Sam counters.

“Silver linings, I suppose,” Kevin says dryly, “Why are we coming here?”

“Because we need to organize,” Dean huffs. “Benny made land by now and is hopefully on his way here.”

For the first time, he senses a genuine response from Cas that reaches out to him instead of retreating. It’s Claire who asks, a recalcitrant tone to her voice while she dangles her arms over the edge of the cart, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“Benny? Who is Benny?”

“A friend,” he says, trying not to smile.

She suddenly moves fast, clambering up the side and throws herself towards him.

“Claire!” Cas snaps.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he says, as he catches her.

She laughs when he puts her on his neck and her warm hands entwine under his chin. Which quickly feels like a choke-hold, so he pries at her fingers. “Ease up a bit, sweetheart.”

“But who’s Benny?” she persists.

“I lived with his pack for a while across the ocean,” he says, glancing up at her.

“What was it like there?”

“Cold. With lots of snow and big pine trees painting the mountains. Mountains higher than our cliffs.”

“Oooh,” she singsongs. “Can we go visit?”

“That isn’t up to me.”

She immediately lets out an imploring whine at Cas, whose attention is on them. He merely arches an eyebrow at her, trying not to look at Dean. “I will think about it.”

Appeased, Claire chuffs at him. “So Benny came over to help you?”

“I didn’t ask him to, but yes, it seems he did.”

“That’s sweet of him,” she smiles and puts her cheek on his head. “Is he your mate?”

Speechless by her directness, he stutters for a moment and his cheeks heat up. “N… No.”

Oh, Benny had been something alright, but never his mate. “Why do you ask?”

“Just cause.”

He crinkles his nose, when he feels her mark him on his neck and he wants to say something, when she continues.

“You smell different than the first time I met you,” she says, nuzzling into his hair.

In the cart Cas’ inhale is audible, but a voice calls to them, old yet strong in its stubborn frailty.

“My boys!”

He and Sam perk up at hearing their grandmother, who steps out of a door, boxed in by gnarly, massive roots. He hears the collective awed response behind him from those who haven’t seen the place before, and even his own breath hitches for a moment while his gaze tracks the large tree trunk of the weeping willow that serves as the entrance to the den. Its trunk splits in three about fifteen feet off the ground, twisting upward between its leaves. On either side of the door climbers cover the bark, bright blue trumpet shaped flowers dangling. They travel up about ten, fifteen feet.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”

“It is! My, that’s a lot of you,” Deanna smiles. “Get that cart up to the side over there and those horses to the stables!”

“Deanna!” Bobby calls to her and waves, when their pack comes to a halt. “Alright if we set up tents?”

“Go ahead, though there’s room inside if you want a decent bed.”

“We’ll see where we all land by nightfall.”

“The lot of you inside! Your father should be back from his perimeter walk any moment. And I’ve got deer steaks on the fire.”

Castiel prods at what remains of his steak. It’s tasty, but so much, his stomach just can’t take it. Across from him, Dean is wolfing down his own share. Before he can give it much thought, he slides his plate over to Dean, which earns him a massive glare. Castiel tilts his head, challenging Dean further, but the hunger seems to win out this time. He accepts. Next to him, Jack is eating well, taking in the surroundings with the curious innocence that seems to be his trademark.

“So what you’re saying is you’ve been doing guerilla-style interventions across our lands, while you have no idea how Mom is?” Sam asks.

It's worse than that, though no one's saying it out loud. He can mainly sense due to the deep sadness leaking through Dean's scent, mingling intensely with his own. With everyone's. During one of those strikes, they lost both Jo and Ellen. Castiel wonders if he eats as a means of compensation for how much he's feeling. The fatigue sinks deeper into his bones. He's been traveling with them for so long, it never crossed his mind they were Hunters. And somehow, despite running, they now died for their former Alpha. He's not sure how he feels about it.

“I knew they did something right with you,” Samuel says.

 _“Implying they did something wrong with Dean?”_ Eileen asks.

John’s face would harden even more, if it were within the cards. As it stands, he seems to be in a permanent state of aggravation. Castiel wonders how this den isn’t bursting at the seams with the strained energies, though Deanna and Dean prove to be of a similar disposition in the face of it.

“Man, Mom really is the brains behind you, isn’t she?” Dean quips.

“Give me some credit, son.”

Samuel’s eyes glitter. “Is that what you told my daughter? Or Ellen and Jo?"

“That,” John bites, “is actually what your daughter told me.”

Ignoring the accusation, John drums his fingers on the table. His dark gaze flicks over each of them and eventually rests on the doorway to the room where they put Becky's friend down to rest. Their pack scatters, glad to find themselves in safer surroundings. While they finish their food, they disperse in pockets. Lee, Karen and Meg take the cubs out for an exploration through the trees. Bobby, Charlie and Kevin go back to setting up camp.

“Why did she stay?” Castiel asks, turning his attention back to John.

“For our people, who can’t leave as easily. Their lives are tied to the soil they live on.”

“Isn’t yours too?”

“I’ve bled for these lands, so yes, mine too. But… we let it go too far.”

John’s unease at admitting such a weakness out loud tastes bitter on his tongue and he coughs.

“What did you learn since the Gathering, Dad?” Dean asks.

“We’ve been tracking shifters whose whereabouts are unknown or unclear. Some we’ve managed to find. The usual. Very miffed when found,” he says with a rueful smile.

“They would be,” Castiel amends. “Did you find everyone?”

“Hardly. It’s safe to assume there are people missing.” John shakes his head. “What can you tell me about your boy and the one in there?”

Castiel glances to Jack, who studies John, eyebrows gently raised. “My nephew found his way back to us, but doesn’t speak. I have no idea what happened to him nor where he’s been, except for the Elysian outfit he showed up in. We know the other one belonged with a small pocket of Nomads who were at the Gathering. So I believe there’s a connection between our John Doe in the bed, Meg and Jack in terms of what they’ve gone through.”

“Which means Elysium is doing this? Considering the outfit.”

Castiel nods his head sideways, not entirely sure. “Potentially.”

Gadreel joins in. “Have you seen any Elysians? Found anyone out of place while you roamed?”

“Not as far as I can tell. Only an increase in traditional behavior even since Azazel’s election,” John shrugs. “Which is also what we’ve been trying to counter. It doesn’t always end well.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Old world fuckery,” Sam says. “Does this mean Alphas are coming down harder on their inferior kin again? Are we to be put back in chains?”

A ripple goes through the majority of his pack, himself included, and the undercurrent of ‘ _I would rather die_ ’ hangs heavy on the air.

“You were never in any actual chains, Sammy,” John grunts.

“Some of us were,” Castiel says.

He clenches his jaw at his own honesty and doesn’t look at Dean, glancing down at his wrists. The beads are shiny, contrasting with the skin beneath.

“ _Those jackasses who lit up the maypole thought it a wonderful idea,_ ” Eileen signs.

“It won’t get to that,” Dean cuts in, a meaningful glance to Castiel. “Alright? Where’s Crowley in this?”

John lifts both hands, palms towards each other, before dropping them back to the table as he lets out a tsk-sound. “Sticking to the side he thinks he stands most to gain from. Which in this case means, a form of peace.”

“Even after the betrayal?”

“With Azazel running the show, Crowley can mind his own pack. There’s no real need for them to cross paths, if he stays out of Azazel’s business. Crowley remembers too.”

“It’s exactly that fear that got us to this point,” Deanna says. “Even my cards are losing patience with you lot.”

John smiles at her through a glower and looks back to Dean. “Why? What are you thinking?”

Dean plucks a small piece of paper from inside his leathers and holds it up between his index and middle finger. “A friend of mine made it here, I assume with part of his pack. He’s on his way to us. If we can get Crowley in on this, I am sure we can take down Azazel.”

“Crowley can be a prickly bastard. That and he never quite forgave you boys.”

“But he’s also a pragmatist. If we balance the scales in our favor… surely he’ll reconsider siding with the assbutt that blew his pack to bits.”

Castiel smiles when he hears the word and finds Dean mirroring him across the table. John catches the exchange, his brow furrowed, and the corner of his mouth ticks up minutely. He can’t really interpret its meaning.

“So we hope your friend gets here in one piece. And we reach out to Crowley.”

The ease with which Elysium is put on the backburner makes him uncomfortable.

The outside of the Campbell den is gorgeous in the dusky light. By the time night begins to fall, Castiel’s body aches all over. More than it should.

Jack is blissfully out for the count. He tried getting through to him again, but aside from being obviously at ease around Castiel, Claire and Gadreel, he’s not responding. He wonders if perhaps this is just how Jack is… A young boy in a young adult shifter body. Perhaps… After Castiel tried to help Kelly escape and failed, they believed Jack dead. It destroyed Kelly, but not the bond they had.

But she withered away. Their last Omega and she just… faded. Gadreel’s hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him back from the memories. He’s holding his bedroll under his arm.

“I’ll be sleeping with Lee,” Gadreel says, shooting him a look over flared nostrils. “Won’t be far. Stay here, Cassie, with us.”

He rubs his eyes with his fingers, letting out a tired sound. “I know, Dree,” he smiles, though it may land on a grimace. “Have fun…? I mean…”

Gadreel scoffs and runs a hand through Castiel’s hair while he pushes up to his feet. “Try to get some sleep.”

He leans into the touch, eyes closed and remembers Dean’s words. To hear him say out loud that Dean’s right to choose was removed from the equation, because of Castiel’s actions, clings to him. His wolves have no qualms when it comes to Dean. They want to safeguard and protect, even if he is compartmentalizing to no end. It’s like sitting at the dinner table with different versions of himself. His caring, nurturing side demands he make amends with Dean this instant. He never answered Dean’s question about whether he’d reject the bond and he can feel it weighing on both of them. To speak his sentiments on the matter would make it real. Undeniable.

His dominant side has entirely different plans, but he doesn’t trust his recently awoken Alpha one bit. He’s too out of touch with himself and the world. The Alpha’s wired wrong, like all Elysians.

Neither of them agree with his adult ass self, insisting on doing right by Dean by steering clear. At least that’s the theory. In practice he’s all too aware of one too many moods scented – conscious or not, twinkling gazes held and smiles shared. Hell, Dean’s father noticed and didn’t seem to bat an eye. Bigger fish to fry, Castiel supposes, as he settles on his bedroll. The cubs are scattered inside the Campbell den.

The majority of the Nomads decide to sleep outside, though he isn’t exactly sure who’s where. Meg is out here. She climbed a tree to one of the lowest, but still ridiculously high-up branches. He knows Karen went to sleep, while Bobby’s catching up with John. He thinks he saw Kevin go to bed, while Charlie was all too taken with the den. And he is listening to blush-inducing sounds coming from Sam and Eileen, which distracts him. Not towards them, obviously. 

Dean’s nearby. 

He doesn’t know where exactly, but he can smell him, which is enough. He breathes in deeper, holding the beautiful flavor of him in his lungs until he’s drowning in it. The idea that his scent will stay with him during the night is reassuring. He wonders what it’ll be like once they part ways. If they part ways.

Which they should. Even if Elysium isn’t up to anything, it is surely wiser to leave the Nomads. Instantly he reminds himself of Lee and Gadreel. Perhaps it’s time Dree went his own way? Granted, they grew up together and he served as Castiel’s playmate, servant and bodyguard, while they grew older. A friend, in the end. Aside from Gabriel, the only one within his whole stinking family. It hurts to think their paths might part, but perhaps that too is for the best.

But would that be fair to his daughter?

He becomes aware of a rustling in the undergrowth and is on his feet, the tent flap parted so the night air enters. With a few quick inhales, he catches them. Foreign shifters closing in.

“Dean,” he whispers, willing his scent outward.

Instantly, Dean drops down from the nearest tree and he resists the urge to scramble away from his sudden proximity. His hand snatches out when Dean reaches for him and their fingers brush for a moment. 

“I’m here. I smell ‘em too.”

They look around in the dark, Dean sidling up to him, their shoulders touching. He points in the direction leading away from the tents and takes point, moving oh so quiet, Castiel’s briefly distracted by the beauty of him.

“Is it…?”

He looks to Dean in wonder, when his fragrance practically explodes with relieved happiness. All of a sudden a good ten shifters start pouring from the bushes. They smell of damp furs and salt. Dean’s laugh is glorious, even if it isn’t meant for him, as he starts walking towards them. His arms shoot up, which is when Castiel notices he’s wearing only his pants, and with it comes an unpleasant premonition.

“Benny!”

“Brother!”

Benny’s tribe.

The loud reunion causes a ruckus among the newcomers, who start howling, clanging weapons against their shields. Castiel flinches, bringing a hand up to his ear reflexively. Within moments, there’s an outpour from the tents and den. Gadreel jogs up to him.

“What’s going on?”

“Benny and his pack made it.”

His eyes track across the members of said pack. Both the men and women are taller than most shifters he’s met in his life. They’re mostly clad in dark leathers and heavy furs, much too heavy for this climate. Armed to the teeth, they still move with grace and purpose, when they pack around Dean and Benny.

His Alpha roars furiously at the display in front of him. Dean all but melts into Benny. Benny, who plants a kiss to his forehead as he wraps his arms around him, Dean almost vanishing in the dark fur cloak.

 _That’s no brotherly kiss_.

And even if it were, he’s seen Lucifer bestow similar gestures on relatives…

Benny’s voice is deep and thick with fondness when he speaks. “Oh, who’s that I smell on you, _cher_?”

It is also clear this lot doesn’t do quiet very well, judging by the responses that gets from the others. They laugh and jeer, good-naturedly, but he winces at the noise. He feels Dean’s scent stutter with an uncharacteristic shyness. Suddenly he wants Dean to introduce him as his Alpha, but he doesn’t. Why would he, with what Castiel’s been telling him? He can barely see Dean, the way he’s hidden in Benny’s embrace, and his heart is thundering with his unease quickly escalating to possessive anger.

He can’t hear the reply, but Dean’s face is so close to Benny’s, it sends his Omega spiraling in anxious fear. Fuck. He needs to get a hold on this. Whatever they’re saying, while exchanging those damned heart eyes, he learns a lot from the way Benny and Dean physically move around each other. It is impossible not to read between their tactile lines.

 _His_ _almost Alpha._

“Cassie?”

Gadreel’s voice reaches him through the haze of his red-rimmed vision.

“What?” he grinds out.

Gadreel’s face contorts and he physically takes a step back, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. “Whoa, holy fucking hell.”

“Yeah, they smell.”

“Uh, sure, Cassie… I mean, they do, but…” His tone is amused, but there’s empathy laced through it. Luckily.

Dean reappears from the cloak and even in the dark, their eyes find each other. Or maybe he’s imagining it. Benny looks at him too and has the balls to wave. Maybe he’s waving at everyone, Castiel doesn’t know. Gadreel all but shoves him off balance to get his attention.

He turns wide eyes on his friend, whose face now betrays nothing but sympathy and he doesn’t need this.

With a snarl, Castiel tears himself away from the group. He all but dives into his tent, finding the blocker and applying it so generously and forcefully, it might leave a rash once he’s done. The howling outside is already getting on his nerves, even though it’s dying out. He can only imagine the effect this tribe will have on Claire.

Jack wakes up, smiling at the sounds outside.

The next day, John leaves to meet Crowley with Meg, Bobby and Karen, well before most of them are awake. In the early morning, however, before the sun is fully up, but while the trees are coated in a darkened golden hue, Castiel goes to find Dean after a restless night. He hesitates in front of the tent, idly hopping from one foot to the other. Half expecting Benny to open the tent flap any moment, he rubs the sweat from the back of his neck over and over.

The sound of sheets moving reaches him with a whiff of Dean’s glorious scent. A soothing rainstorm. The chocolate is getting stronger, blending beautifully with the sweetness of leather. His own core fragrance of a herbal bonfire is layered firmly underneath, so strong, he can almost hear the snap and crackle of the flames drying fresh leather. He doesn’t know when it happened exactly, but it clearly did.

A muffled groan follows and he leans closer, inhaling deeper.

“Mmmh, fucking hell,” Dean mumbles. “Come inside or leave, Cas, cause you’re mighty distracting this way.”

“I…” He curses wordlessly and hums. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

Dean’s laughter smooths some of the tension out of him. Stupidly easy. Too easy. It’s as if acknowledging their bond out loud is enough to strengthen it.

“Are you… alone?” He winces at the obvious question, but it’s out.

The tent flap opens and he retreats, though his feet remain firmly planted, intent on pushing forward. They’re almost chest to chest, and oh, isn’t Dean glorious with his hair all fluffed up, a healthy sleep-blush tinging his cheeks? He’s wearing a loose shirt over his leather pants. The softness reminds him of that night in the cave. He wants to touch him...

He realizes his wolves are ganging up on him. To step inside, to kiss Dean, and take and surrender. Instantly he orders them back in line. Marginally successful, when his eyes linger on Dean’s shoulders, traveling the strong column of his neck only to get caught on his eyes, swirling with impish promises. 

Dean yawns, his eyes crinkling in the process. “Morning, Cas.”

“I feel I owe you an apology,” he blurts out.

A delicate uptick of one eyebrow, while Dean echoes his earlier words. “For what exactly?”

Dean gestures him inside and he quickly follows, because he gets to step into Dean’s scent. Both of them standing upright in the tent puts them in perhaps closer proximity than is necessary. He ducks his head, leaning into his kinder side.

“A number of things, I suppose. Mainly for being such a ‘moody dick’, as you’d likely call it.”

“I never said…”

Castiel shoots him A Look, which provokes a lovely reaction. Dean manages to both grin wickedly and turn pink at the tips of his ears. It’s a good look on him.

Focus.

“Well, not in those words,” Dean shrugs on a half-smile. “We’re good, Cas. It’s part of your charm.”

“Somehow I doubt that. Nor do you deserve that dubious charm..” He takes a deep breath to steel himself for what he’s going to say. “Nor does Benny deserve it. He came here to help, though it isn’t his fight.”

His Alpha objects to the admission that Dean receives help from another Alpha. His Omega is borderline swooning at the kindness Benny bestows Dean, because it’s hard not to approve. Especially because all of it suddenly lines up beautifully with his own ideals and Dean deserves no less than a world at peace. If Benny crosses an ocean to aid in restoring order, or a valiant attempt at anyway, who is Castiel to deny either?

Except Dean’s True Mate.

“You alright, Cas?”

Dean’s drawing him out, almost unintentionally, he feels. Instinctively, perhaps, because his emotions are on tangible display, even if he’s not directly voicing them. They were earlier and they are now.

He squints at Dean, initially seeing nothing but his typical teasing Alpha bluster, but he catches enough of the tenderness in his voice for his heart to swell and his voice to stutter. His mouth goes dry and both wolves within yip and whine at him to follow the trail. The scent is there. _Right there._ If he doesn’t, perhaps Benny will.

“Uhh… You can stop that trail of thought in its tracks.”

“Wh.. I didn’t… What?”

Dean regards him with such understanding fondness, he steps closer, hand reaching out to touch him. Emerald eyes track the movement, the brow above furrowing, when Castiel stops himself.

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, Cas?”

He can hear the words in his mind, as if Dean speaks them aloud. _Benny’s no threat._ Castiel knows he isn’t. And even if he were, Castiel has not earned the right.

“No,” he says, putting as much as he dares into his timbre. “I know.”

“Okay. Good.” Dean gives a firm nod and looks at him expectantly.

Castiel scritches through his hair, giving it a gentle tug to force himself out of the intoxicating effect of Dean’s scent and presence and his own maddeningly inconsistent thoughts. It elicits a sweet smile, but his behavior is also causing Dean concern, so he needs to get a grip.

“You’ve done nothing but prove me wrong at every turn. Yes, you’re clearly Alpha-trained and damn your smart mouth and your stubbornness and…”

Dean grimaces, though his eyes brighten at being described this way. “Weren’t you here to apologize?”

Castiel swallows around the words, getting worked up. “… your _impudence._ But you have a heart big enough to protect and love the world and everyone in it, Dean Winchester.”

He is pleased when that takes the wind out of Dean’s brazen sails. His lips part, mouth going slack, and his whole body seems to unknot when he looks Castiel in the eye. So tenderly hopeful. Pink-cheeked. Shy, perhaps. It would be unfair to call Dean naïve but in moments like these, Castiel wonders if the trait doesn’t apply.

“And I don’t understand why you’d extend that courtesy to me.”

Dean scoffs, wiping a hand over his mouth as he shakes his head. “Well, it’s painfully obvious, isn’t it?”

“Which makes it sound like you don’t have a choice and that…” He hesitates. 

Because he didn’t come here to lay his heart bare nor does he want to entertain the exact detail about their biology that irks him more than usual. A swirl of annoyance rips through the moment, though he isn’t sure which of his words caused it.

Likely the suggestion that Dean has no free will regarding the matter.

“Look here,” Dean says, tone snappy. “Until Claire made that remark about my scent, I’ve been telling myself I was making it up. Alright? That none of it was… Th-that I am so fucking touch-starved, I was desperate enough to imagine a bond that isn’t real.” Castiel makes to protest, but Dean cuts him off with a slicing hand gesture and a heated look. “Your denial did not help.”

“I didn’t deny it to hurt you.”

“I assume so, because you also hurt yourself in the process. But you know full well what denial of a mating bond does to those involved.”

“I had no idea we were already scent-bonding. And I told you I had trouble believing we’d be true mates. That I’d get…”

Dean’s eyes find his, a pained but soft expression in them. “That you’d get the chance? Makes two of us, Cas. A mate is one thing. A true mate… Well, the stars above count against the odds on that one. You’d think that with the years you have on me, you’d be smarter about it.”

Desperation scratches at him from the inside out, because this conversation is going the complete other direction than the one he needs it to go. He makes a desperate leap to get it back on track. To get Dean back on track.

“Dean, I am not what you think I am.”

“Surprise, Cas, I don’t care. Didn’t I tell you that in the cave?”

“You should.” He breathes in shakily. “You will.”

Dean licks his lower lip, distracting him blissfully, because now all he can think of is kissing them. To lean into this feeling the way his wolf wants him to, how nature intends for him. He wants to nibble on that pink lower lip, slide his tongue along, until Dean opens up and he can…

“Why don’t you try me and see?”

He looks up at the luring sound of those words, Dean’s expression too sultry for him not to have picked up on his sidetracked indulgence. He squints at him. Being scent-bonded to the man feels like the best and worst development he could have wished for. Being more is just folly, but isn’t it all kinds of wonderful to feel alive at the mere thought? More alive than he’s felt in years.

“Stop making such rash offers.”

There’s that beautiful brazen smile again with just enough of a challenge to the gleam in his eyes. “Because you might take me up on it? Not exactly a deterrent, Cas.”

“In this, persistence is not your friend.”

“Only if what I’m offering is unwanted. If the sentiment is truly unrequited.”

Castiel slams his mouth shut, because that goes to the root cause of his problem. A pleased hunger flickers in Dean’s eyes and an echoing upsurge of emotions is hot on its heels through their scent. Dean’s essence is pushing on the edges of him, his intent tangible in his stubbornness. Castiel pants, lips parted, and Dean’s gaze falls to his lips, then catches his once more. Cocking his head slightly, his eyebrows shoot up, his whole body inching closer. Castiel can feel the tempting warmth of him.

“Do you want to deny this bond, Cas? Reject it?”

Castiel’s wolf almost forces a full shift at the defiance and he is pulled painfully towards Dean, like a meat hook is caught under his ribs, yanking him mercilessly off balance. His legs move without his consent, but the rest of him lines up in perfect agreement. Dean’s eyes widen and he reaches out, wanting to stabilize him.

“ _Morrigan’s cowl,_ Cas, what was that?”

He raises his hands to ward him off and winces, pain vibrating under his ribs, like all the coldness in the world suddenly took residence there. 

“ _That_ is why I can’t. I… I’ve been through a few… _experiences_ ,” he grits out, while he clutches his arm to his torso, trembling. “Claire.”

“Claire?” Dean mutters, not understanding, his voice echoing endlessly.

And Castiel is falling, losing his hold on his memories.

A riptide, black as night, surges up from the depths, engulfing him. He goes under pitch-black water, its rancid flavor going down his throat, cutting off his air. Suddenly he’s viciously bleeding through his scent and being scent-bonded, there’s no doubt in Heaven or Hell that Dean is right there with him. Memories flood him violently, tearing at him. Because he rarely talks about them, unless in a matter-of-fact way with Gadreel, and he was there. Not in this emotionally out of control way, Dean’s pushed him to.

Horridly vivid flashes of Lucifer’s red eyes and his putrid scent invade his senses. Of Michael, joining in, bending the rules and paving a path for the insanity. Of the Alpha, wild in his drugged-up rut, forcing him down by the neck. Of manacles and chains and so much pain, he would have passed out if the drugs didn’t keep him wide awake throughout. Every slice, every stroke, every thrust. Strung up by the broken coils of his soul. His mouth forced full, which served no purpose but to humiliate. His body cut up and altered, forced to bend and break under Lucifer’s will, until it suited God’s plan. The greater good. For the sake of the family.

And suddenly he’s falling deeper. Down his own mind, locked away, watching while they do all those things to him that to this day defy words and reason. Ever falling deeper and faster until he believes there is no end to the depths, while his insides burn him alive, while they try to fight off the drugs, the pain, the invasion of his body and soul. He’s feeling too much too deeply and there’s no way out. Except...

Over the edge down into ice-cold water that should have destroyed him. And her.

“Cas!”

He is startled back into the present, though he doesn’t really see Dean standing in front of him. He knows he’s there, by the strength of his hands around his biceps and his scent spiralling around him, metallic with his deep concern, borderline panic. Dean’s pulling at him, body and mind, to get him to return to him. His mind is clear like a crisp winter morning when the words are spoken out loud in ways they never were before.

“Claire was no choice,” he whispers. “Elysium forced her on me. It’s true, what Amara said. They’re failing, their blood unfit to reproduce, so they found other ways. Gadreel helped me escape while I was pregnant with her. I should have died. An abomination…”

“Enough,” Dean hisses.

There’s an impressive, loud rumbling in Dean’s throat as his voice cuts through memories and his vision is swamped with bright green, laced red at its edges. He’s wrapped up in Dean’s arms, encased in the scent of strong, protective Alpha. And for the first time in his life, Castiel goes with it, exhausted eyes falling shut, worn-out muscles giving way, when he allows himself to fall into Dean’s arms. His cheek presses into Dean’s shoulder, a broken sound wrenched from him.

The hollow space in his chest wants to swallow Dean whole. Dean, whose touch is always cool to his skin, soothing the fire underneath.

“Cas,” Dean mutters into his hair. “Cas, I’ve got you.”

He wonders how Dean manages to maneuver them into a comfortable embrace, but only briefly, because his presence succeeds at actively chasing the memories to the edges of his awareness. The light of him holds them at bay.

A shiver wracks through him at the strength that emanates from Dean and he clutches onto his back and shoulders, fingers digging into his muscles. He groans when he sinks back into the pain of his mind, his body shaking within Dean’s embrace. But his eyes find an anchor, one consisting of spring-green eyes, freckled skin and messy hair. 

“There you are,” Dean smiles sweetly, but it’s a bit shaky. “I’ve got you, Cas. Please stay with me.”

Dean’s fingers card through his hair in soothing, repetitive gestures. If he keeps this up, he’s sure to pass out, though the thought of sleep brings fear in its wake. 

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into his hair. “You are safe with me, Cas. You and your cubs.”

He finds no language sufficient in the face of the promise. In any other shifter, he would deem them empty words, but somehow Dean’s carry true meaning. He wonders if this is the madness that comes with a true mate’s bond. A touch of desperation spikes through them both and the pressure on his skin increases.

He opens his eyes and finds only parts of Dean. His chest. The scars among the freckles. A softness when he moves his hands along his stomach to pull him closer. They are both trembling. With sudden clarity, he realizes Dean shared in everything he revealed. He turns towards the warmth and the light that Dean seems to provide in spades. Dean shudders when he puts his hands to his face and his eyes open. His pupils are almost reduced to pin-pricks, despite the darkness, his senses on high alert in the face of Castiel’s anguished memories.

“Dean,” he says, voice a lot clearer than he feels. “I’m sorry…” 

“No apologies, please don’t, just…” A thumb traces his lower lip. He tilts his head up, searching, sniffing out what he hears in Dean’s voice, a vulnerability, but surely that’s his own? “Why does it feel like I’ll burn under your touch? Why does it feel like my blood will boil if I walk away? Not that I could if I wanted to… it hurts, Cas.”

“It isn’t yours, Dean. That pain… It’s mine.”

“Not that,” he mumbles, shaking his head. Stubborn, even in this. “The other pain… if you leave. You’re thinking about leaving.”

How did that make it through?

“I… I know this is making it difficult, Dean, but please understand that it’s in your best interest,” he mutters, even while he noses into his neck.

Dean groans, his fingers raking through the hair at the base of his neck, even while he tilts his head, baring himself further. 

“We scent-bonded,” he mumbles, like it’s a life line. “Claire noticed and I’m pretty sure the whole pack is bonding around us. Quite a few things are starting to make sense to me.”

“You deserve better.”

Dean bonks their foreheads together inelegantly, huffing out a hot breath against his lips. “You’re a chivalrous, moody, dramatic old man, Cas. You don’t want to bow to your nature. Ain’t it time you practice what you preach and stop telling me what I should do?”

He wants to protest and bring up more arguments, but he’s running out. And there’s no fault in Dean’s logic.

“I’ll never ask that of you. In fact…”

There’s a sudden, sharp uptick in Dean’s temperature and a delicious swirl of something willing, tempting in its appeal.

“But you are. By walking away, you force my hand. I don’t want to let you walk away anymore. Whatever you need, Cas, to… to give space to that which scares you so much?”

He’s wording that last bit delicately for his sake, which as far as language is concerned muddles it, but the brazen conviction dripping through their scent more than makes up for it. The offer crystallizes like an ice sculpture before his mind’s eye. It moves and shimmers under his gaze, like the stars are caught in winter, with every subtle nuance Dean adds to his intentions.

“You can take what you need. I want to be here… like this.” He starts shaking his head, but Dean juts his chin out stubbornly, clenching his jaw. “For you.”

Dean doesn’t understand the risks entailed by what he’s offering. Hell, he doesn’t fully understand them himself unless perhaps in the only way his family’s blood understands. Destruction. Yet his Alpha soars on the trust given and the willingness of Dean, putting his nose to the soil to follow the trail so willingly presented. When he continues to not produce words, Dean plants a kiss to his cheekbone. He closes his eyes against the tenderness.

_Follow the trail._

“Dean.”

“Hmm?” His lips twitch against his skin as he hums, a soothing vibration travelling from Dean to him.

“Can we hunt together?”

Dean’s intense excitement sweeps him up and lifts their scent to higher spheres. His spoken answer is a moot point, really.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

Dean chuckles. “Sure, Cas.”


	22. Little Beast, Are You As Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Focus, Dean.”
> 
> “I’m trying,” he whispers lowly.
> 
> His face goes slack when Cas’ warmth is suddenly very close. A heat runs over his spine, weakening his knees, Cas’ breath ghosting hotly over the shell of his ear, the timbre all too seductive. “Try harder, pup. For me.”
> 
> Oh, hellfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROGRESS! *tosses some moar confetti violently*

Dean’s stupidly nervous when he is alone in his tent, Cas leaving him in another misplaced bout of chivalry. He’s also processing what Cas inadvertently showed him. Though it was more of a feeling experience than a seeing one, barring horrid flashes of experiences, steeped in pain and dread. Betrayal. Loneliness. And such a deep lack of not understanding why, Dean’s sure the experience left behind an empty space within him as well. An echo of Cas’.

And those red eyes. He can’t wrap his head around it, but he likes to think that, at an intuitive level, he’ll understand Cas better. Which is why he gave into Cas’ request without hesitation.

He hasn’t had time to practice what Cas taught him in the cave and he doesn’t want to risk ruining anything that can’t be replaced with relative ease. So just pants, it is. The idea that he’s walking into fire materializes before his mind’s eye again, while he pulls his shirt over his head. After a moment of consideration, he removes his stockings too. He frowns when he notices a slight tremble in his hands. Nerves are a rare experience, because on average, he either knows exactly what he’s doing or he charges in, trusting his instincts.

He’s never been this deeply down someone’s mind before. He’s never been scent-bonded before. 

That might have to do with it.

His heartbeat picks up at the thought of what lies beyond that bond. It’s surreal and terrifying, but all he really wants to do is roll in it. He heads back out, running into Sam and Charlie. He backs up. Sam’s eyebrows try to meet his hairline, as he takes in his attire – or lack thereof. Charlie’s smile can only get wider once she learns what he’s up to.

“Any news?” he asks them pointedly.

“Yeah, Bobby reached out to Granma. Crowley agreed to meet up, so they’re on their way to us. Grandma says they’re headed for a glen a fair ways away, so we’re somewhere neutral to see how we can align.”

“And the Vikings are… interesting,” Charlie smiles. “They’re out hunting and exploring the area. Benny’s awesome!”

That provokes a real smile. “Yep, he is. Saved my life several times over.”

“And then some, I’m sure,” Charlie grins wider.

Sam wrinkles his nose, flaring his nostrils, and his eyes light up. “Where are you off to?”

“Hunting with Cas.”

“Sure,” Charlie snickers. She nudges her shoulder into Sam “Hunting. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“You know what? I think they are,” Sam smirks, while he drapes an arm around Charlie.

“The kids,” Dean echoes on a scoff, too ahead of the moment to come up with a decent retort.

He scrunches up his face at them. Charlie beams, opening her arms for a hug. His heart clenches, acutely aware of who she’s missing, and the bottom drops out of his stomach at the thought. He isn’t even anywhere as close to Cas as Charlie is to Dorothy, but he’s suddenly all too sensitive to her plight. His compassion leaking through, he indulges her as much for her as his own sake and presses his cheek to hers. She whines sweetly and squeezes down on him. Since they started training, she’s gotten noticeably stronger. The ease of them only grows as time goes by.

His pack.

His cheeks faintly warmer, he dodges out from their amused scrutiny and looks around to find Cas. The unsettling feeling melts as soon as he finds him. Their eyes meet across the distance and he picks up a small jog to close it faster. While he makes his way over, he forces himself to focus his attention away from the partially unbuttoned shirt. He licks his lips, eyebrows going up with curious interest before pulling himself away from… other ventures. His instant reward is to be drawn in by Cas’ sapphire eyes. There’s a whiff of tenseness in him that vibrates tenderly through their scent and translates in how he holds himself.

How fascinating the world suddenly is with this added layer to reality.

Beautiful.

He’s about to say hello, which he puts down to further pointless nerves, when Charlie’s voice sounds all too loud.

“Have fun hunting with Cas, oh mighty Alpha.”

Cas’ face does the most alluring thing. Like he’s choking on his own tongue when he tries not to laugh, folding in on himself as if to hide. A wheezy sound escapes him, while Dean flips her off over his shoulder. Her laughter does his heart well all the same.

Cas tries to get a handle on his twinkling eyes. “Ready?”

He juts his chin out towards Cas’ tent. “How’s Jack and Claire?”

“Well, Claire,” he says with emphasis, “slept in the trees with Meg. Apparently they have some sort of nests up there? And Jack… Jack slept well, barring the howling Vikings.”

“If you want… Bobby and Sam have some skill with magic. Perhaps…”

“Maybe. I don’t know… I… He was drugged. Like Meg. I’d rather not force anything else on him. Maybe it’s a matter of time. Healing and patience.”

He senses the delicacy of the subject, even without sniffing for it. “Whatever you think the kid needs, Cas.”

Cas smiles at him, eyes alight in gratitude. He knows he’s pushed Cas’ tender spots before and he regrets some of that. But basic decency really shouldn’t elicit this amount of relief in someone. Yet here they are.

“So ready to give your shift a try?”

“Out of sight,” he grumbles. “I’m jittery enough without an audience.”

Cas blinks innocently at his straightforwardness and he feels a need to clarify. He’s not one to mince a lot of words, but for all their coin-flipping tendencies, he feels he needs to make sure Cas understands.

“No point hiding my nerves, is there?”

“I think you can still hold on to a fair bit of your private thoughts, Dean. Even when your scent betrays some of what’s going on.”

“I know. Who says I want to?”

Cas sighs, rubbing his fingers to his forehead. “Self-preservation, pup. And my sanity,” he adds as an after-thought.

Utterly charmed by Cas’ admission, Dean bats his lashes at him. He starts walking, loving how what they have tugs at them both ways, Cas falling into smooth step.

“I haven’t been actively scenting you, by the way,” he says. “It just sorta happens…”

Cas hums softly, a satisfied swirl of warm honeyed milk wafting through his scent. “I know.”

Which is the same as saying that it simply is. A fresh giddiness travels up his spine.

The surroundings distract them for a while. The trees here are much older than the forest near the Sacred Site. It makes everything quieter. Slower. They’re taller, thicker and somehow closer together. The damp soil softens their footfalls and it isn’t long before they’re actively trying to move as quietly as possible, senses surrendering to the sounds and scents around them, scouting ahead for what’s to come.

Cas’ fingers brush the inside of his forearm to bring him to a halt.

“Far enough?”

“Yeah, sure,” he mutters. “I am not sure if I’m gonna be able to pull this off.”

“Without ruining your pants, you mean?”

There’s a teasing hint to his tone, which soothes some of his nerves. “Dude, I’ve literally never done magic in my life on any kind of regular basis.”

“It’s a simple enough incantation.”

He nods. “I got that much, but I am trying to understand it.”

“Which is a good reflex to help pull it off. So to speak.” Cas frowns, momentarily confused by his own remark. “Uhm. You notice I peel off a few layers before shifting, yes?”

His eyes flicker over Dean’s torso, toeing the line between appreciative and a distinct sense of ‘ _why so many…_ ’.

Dean smirks. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. I’m assuming it makes it simpler, the less layers you’ve got on?”

There’s obvious satisfaction in Cas’ eyes when he smiles, which carries across the little distance, almost like a rewarding scratch behind his ear. Dean’s Alpha chuffs contentedly and expands his chest, while he breathes. He’s eager to show himself, he can tell, which is all kinds of eye roll-inducing.

“Correct. Basically, whatever you wear is swept up in the spell and affects your fur. They’re subtle details. The more you wear…”

“The more your fur changes? That’s awesome! That stardust I saw in your fur… What makes it?”

“That’s just me,” Cas says. His cheeks heat and, dare Dean say it, he looks almost shy. Cute. Which isn’t a moniker he expected to ever use on Cas. “With what I’m wearing now, I’ll be a touch whiter on my shoulders, but that’s it.”

“Awww, like a silver fox.”

Cas puffs up defensively, carding his fingers through the hair at his temples. “I am _not._ ” 

His eyes shine with a mild self-consciousness Dean also hadn’t pegged him for and he chuckles, sending a reassuring sentiment through his scent.

“It works for me, Cas.”

Some of the grumpiness returns to him. “Hardly the point, is it? Show me what you can do.”

He grins wider at the challenging dismissal and stands taller, closing his eyes to focus. Which is few and far between, because he feels Cas’ endearing huffiness. He has no idea when it became endearing rather than infuriating, but here he is, eyes closed in the forest outside the Campbell pack’s den, opposite Cas, his uncooperative true mate – which he has trouble believing - trying to shift to his wolf form without ripping his clothes to shreds.

Though if he does, maybe they can get delightfully side-tracked into something else.

“ _Focus_ , Dean.”

He chuckles, letting some of the sleaze through. “I’m trying,” he whispers lowly.

His face goes slack when Cas’ warmth is suddenly _very close._ A heat runs over his spine, weakening his knees, Cas’ breath ghosting hotly over the shell of his ear, the timbre all too seductive. “Try harder, pup. For me.”

 _Oh, hellfire_.

His heart leaps into his throat, sending his blood humming through his veins. He tilts his head, opening up to Cas instinctively. “Not helping.”

“Consider it good practice. Focusing through distractions.”

“For what exactly?”

“Character?” Cas teases.

“Psht. Plenty of that.”

An amused gust through Cas’ scent distracts him further, until he gathers his scattered parts and leans into his wolf. He arranges the incantation’s words in his mind. Though he can’t see him, he’s aware of Cas close by, his anticipation palpable. He jumps up and down, loosening up his muscles. As he exhales the spell, for whatever reason, he tells himself this is about learning something new, but the intimacy of the moment runs deep and fast through his being. Falling forward, he _shifts_ , landing on four paws.

Castiel stops breathing. Or his body tells him he does, because his mind almost whites out while he physically reacts to Dean shifting in front of him. Since both Dean and Dree called him out, he’s noticed his wolves are steering him more than he’s allowed them in the past. Though for the life of him, he can’t tell if it’s the Omega or Alpha within.

At this moment it hardly matters.

Dean’s scent explodes around him when he shifts. The world looks brighter for it when his paws thud on the forest soil and emerald wolf eyes, framed by darker lashes, find his. His heart swells with a stupid amount of pride at the distinct lack of shredded pants around Dean’s wide paws. In his human form, Dean’s taller than him, but as a wolf, adorably, he isn’t. Elysian blood has an edge on others, at a cost. 

Dean’s fur is a gorgeous russet, paler around the eyes and across the belly. The tips of his darker, almost chocolate-colored ears are slightly tufted, much the same way his hair stands up like a hedgehog’s after sleep. His stocky human build translates to his wide shoulders and strong haunches. His wolf’s head is broad, the fur fanning beautifully when he shakes it out and squints his eyes at Castiel, chuffing softly.

A large pink tongue comes out, licking the black nose and muzzle. Whiskers move with the gesture, fanning out from even rows of tiny white dots. Dean pants, tongue lolling out to the side and it almost looks like he’s smirking. Smugly.

Of course. Even as a wolf.

Giddy butterflies burst free in his chest. Castiel throws his head back, laughing. A loud, belly-laugh that makes Dean do the excited canine hop from one paw to the other, while he nudges his wet nose under Castiel’s chin. He dodges, but only half-heartedly, pleased at the reality he finds himself in. For the first time, it’s like he’s genuinely here.

Almost.

“Such liberties,” he smiles. “May I?”

He lifts his hands. Dean all but purrs at him at the request and surges forward into his arms, holding nothing back when he shoves his big head into his chest. It feels like he’s cuddling up, but then he realizes… He’s fucking scent-marking him all over. And maybe cuddling. He can’t tell and his head is starting to swim, his face suddenly buried in a mane of fur. The fragrance of leather is stronger when he’s in his wolf form, taking on a more layered structure.

Castiel wraps his arms around him, relishing the feel of coarse fur between his fingers. He digs them in deeper, in search of the softer undercoat, Dean stepping up closer, his considerable weight pushing against his chest.

“Take it easy, pup,” he chides. “I am not going anywhere.”

A sentiment that surprises him, because it reaches much further than what he intended. Impatience rushes from Dean to him like a wave crashing against the rocks. Indulging his own wants a little longer, Castiel scratches both sides of Dean’s face. Dean’s bright wolf eyes draw him in, as he squints them over and over, panting slower with every caress, until they remain shut. He has half a mind not to shift at all and just pet Dean, until he bares his stomach to him.

What would that take?

Dean opens his eyes, as soon as the curiosity hits and there’s that wolf grin again. He grips Dean’s fur harder, drawing a wanton whine from him and for a blessed moment, those emerald eyes are thinly lined red around the iris. His own flash red in response, then gold and blend, throwing a filter over the world. The idea blossoms and he knows he doesn’t need to say it out loud.

With a soft hum, Castiel releases Dean. He turns around and takes off running. Dean’s confusion makes it through the scent, but then the sound of wolf paws hitting the soil spikes his heart rate. He enjoyed running as a kid, but he doubts he’s done enough of it lately to stay ahead of a shifted wolf of the Hunter Tribe.

Still, he tries, his blood singing at the exhilarating freedom that’s suddenly literally at his feet with Dean in hot pursuit. He leaps over a fallen tree, hearing wolf claws digging in mercilessly when Dean pushes off the obstacle and lands close enough for his breath to hit his back through the fabric of his shirt. The heady scent of him is _right fucking there_ , hinting at the possibility that Dean might just barrel into him, shove his head under his legs and toss him onto his back. Send them rolling through the undergrowth.

A startling heave of want courses through him and he staggers.

To compensate, he wraps his arm around a tree, using his built-up speed, and swings around it. He laughs, the sudden turn of his flexible, biped body at an advantage, when he hears Dean’s frustrated snarl as he skids to a halt. Chuckling, he whirls on his axis, catching sight of Dean bounding off the side of a tree, teeth bared, glittering eyes glued to him, splinters breaking off under his weight when he catches up. A thrilled laugh bubbles up, while he turns back and takes the jump off a small ledge, shifting in mid-air to land on black wolf paws and keeps running.

He flexes his muscles, inhaling deeply and the scent of his surroundings hit him harder, fueling him. Immediately their speeds match up better, though he senses Dean is impressed with him and loving this. He pushes himself, daring Dean through his scent, spurring him on. The world blurs around him, the sound of his and Dean’s paws syncing up, and something is altered between them, subtle, soft and smooth like warm water. Dean’s effect on him permeates all his senses, as he slows down marginally so they’re running together rather than chasing each other.

Running, he has an edge on Dean in terms of height. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean sink through his front paws to push off of the soft soil, the sunlight dappling his fur. He keeps low to the ground, fur bouncing with every step, Castiel angling towards him, even while they run.

Glorious.

Twinkling eyes. He senses the pup is up something, before Dean can put his intent into action. With a pleased, chuffed snort Castiel beats him to it, changing course mid-leap so he collides with Dean, who’s jumped up to knock him off his feet. It sends them tumbling down a small slope, head over ass, paws pressed to each other’s shoulders and chest. Their yips and snarls fill the air, all playful aggression, lighting up his mind in ways he hasn’t been able to in two decades. Safe.

He twists his torso right before they hit the bottom, taking the brunt of the fall with a low growl, Dean landing on top of him. Concern spikes through their scent. When he opens his eyes, he finds Dean above him, pupils like pinpricks, worry wafting off him while he whines at Cas. Rumbling in reply, he licks Dean’s muzzle in reassurance and pushes him off to take off running again. After a few bounds, he turns so he’s showing his flank, but – holy hell! – Dean is so much faster than he expected.

He’s barreled over by 190 pounds of russet wolf, falling backwards into a pool of mud. He’s pretty sure no one has ever cursed across a scent-bond while shifted before, but he manages to do it. Dean’s amusement blends with surprise when they roll in the surprisingly warm muck. He doesn’t even try to get up and for a few intense heartbeats, they’re on top of each other, Dean licking his muzzle.

Dean picks something up on the air, before he does, and abruptly gets off him, the thrill of the hunt shimmering in the air between them. He shakes out his fur and smoothly moves parallel to Dean, both of them keeping up with such graceful natural ease, it’s almost obscene. He catches the scent of the stag, so faint he wonders how Dean even noticed it.

He slips into a quieter run, sinking lower to the ground. His Alpha basks in the way Dean takes his cue and adjusts immediately, sidling up closer so they’re almost shoulder to shoulder. His warmth is tangible across the small distance. So is the smell of mud, caking his fur and disturbing their scent.

Their dynamic seems easier in this form. Purer in feeling. Though perhaps it is simply less muddled. Freed.

When they arrive at a small clearing, they come to a halt in unison, nestled in the high grass. The stag is lapping up water and hasn’t heard them yet. Castiel sits up a touch higher, eyes above the grass. The wind is right and in all fairness, the mud works to their advantage. Dean slides closer, his head covering Castiel’s throat, even though there’s no immediate threat. A warmth blossoms in his chest at the gesture and he sinks his weight into him. He can feel their heartbeats increase at their proximity and what lies ahead, the hum of the hunt coursing through their veins.

With a soft chuff, Dean starts moving first and he follows right after him, sticking close until they’re a good five feet away, coming up behind the stag. It’s larger than either of them, its antlers massive and perfectly capable of skewering them. 

At the last moment, it senses them and starts running, jolting both of them into an immediate sprint on either side. He pants, the air raging through his lungs. Sweat, their mingling pheromones, high on the moment, it sends an adrenaline rush through him, Dean’s exhilarated mood a permanent undercurrent seeping in. He wants to hold his breath to keep it inside.

Dean snarls, snapping at its hind legs in an attempt to herd it. The stag bellows out in fear when it barrels out of reach, but finds Castiel in its path. The antlers come down, its brown eyes wide, when it charges at him, which forces him to dodge out of the way, quickly turning back to chase after it. A brief surge of panic emanates from Dean, spurring him on. He pushes himself to go faster, the hooves of the stag so close he can see the texture, the mud and grass clinging to them.

With a jump, he nips into the hind leg, tearing through skin but not able to bite down. He dodges the kick that follows, but barely, the hoof skimming his eye socket and knocking into his shoulder. A yelp escapes him when the pain shoots through his front leg. Dean’s paws are thundering along on the other side of the stag and suddenly vanish. There’s a brief moment of time suspended and then the stag keens, suddenly careening off course towards him. Castiel braces himself, pushing up as high as he can while running, using his bulk to trip it up. He feels the stag’s legs give way, its mass barreling over and on him, with Dean on top of it.

He slinks lower, taking some of the pain, then out of reach, allowing the massive weight to fall.

He hears ribs break when they collide with the soil and skid further, flattening grass and sending dirt flying. The stag rears its head, knocking the antlers into Dean. The pain cuts through their scent before he sees the blood pouring from Dean’s rump. His nostrils flare and his vision flashes completely red. He roars, leaping at the stag’s exposed throat and sinks his teeth in. Blood floods his mouth, while it fights back, kicking and bellowing. Dean snarls and adds his weight and strength to the endeavor, paws on the stag’s head as he bites on the side of its neck, going straight for the main artery. A spray of blood squirts into his face and he closes his eyes, the scent and high of a successful hunt flooding him.

He hears and feels the crunch of the throat giving way under the strain of their combined bites. They both hold on until it stops moving, before he works his tongue and maw loose from the flesh. He licks his muzzle and nose over and over, drinking down the warm blood. Immediately his attention shifts to Dean, vision flashing golden, but there’s an instant reassurance extended to him when Dean licks him, a soothing rumble emanating from his chest.

He squints his eyes shut, panting, when he feels and tastes Dean through the stag blood. A soft purr vibrates from within and he sits within the adrenaline pumped moment, returning Dean’s ministrations long enough for both of them to come down.

Dean walks a few circles, shaking out his fur and sits down. He feels the shift before he sees it, starting at Dean’s spine as it ripples through him. Fur gives way for smooth, tanned, freckled skin and torn leather pants. He wants to follow suit, but Dean stumbles up to him.

“No, no, no, wait! Please?” He stands up, almost eye to eye with Dean in this form. “I… didn’t get the chance last time, Cas…”

Right. He’s so entrenched in the present, he almost forgot. Last time he ran. He chuffs, softening his eyes and steps closer to him. He _wants_ Dean’s touch, his fingers in his fur. Whining softly, he snuffs at the new wound and licks it, earning a swirl of gratitude for it and hands sinking into his coat. Head shooting up, he snuffles into Dean’s hair with all but a sigh.

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles, the tone slipping into a silky tease. “Kinda dirty though.”

_Whose fault is that?_

Dean chuckles softly, digs his fingers into the soft fur at the base of his ears and scritches, sending tingles down his spine. He leans forward, until Dean’s wrapped between his front paws, head over his shoulder, arms around him. Enveloped in Castiel.

“You look like you have wings,” he mumbles, pushing up on his tiptoes. “Is that the shirt’s effect?”

His hands skim over the fur on his shoulders, massaging between his shoulder blades. He licks at Dean’s neck, the salt of his sweat melting on his tongue.

“I think I want to stay here forever,” Dean whispers, while he buries his face in his chest.

Which instantly constricts. Because they can’t. And just like that he slips into his human mind a bit more. Dean must sense it, because he steps back, putting both hands to the sides of his muzzle, giving him a last pet before letting go.

“This is going to be interesting to get to camp,” he says, eyeing the stag.

He shakes himself, muscles rippling while he shifts back and finds himself on two feet once more, shoulder to shoulder with Dean. Glancing to the side, he finds a pair of sparkling green eyes, offset by the blood covering the lower half of his face. Wiping his hand over his mouth, his hand comes away smeared as well. What a sight they must be.

“I see keeping your clothes in one piece is going to be a challenge.”

Dean shrugs lightly, rubbing over the gap in his thigh. “Look at it this way,” he smiles, “You get to stitch me up again.”

Which, yes, please, he’d like to.

“Fuck’s sake,” Cas mutters through a mild fluster. “My clothes… You’re a menace.”

He’s staring down at his outfit, which is soiled the same way his fur was, all because… Dean. A soft laugh works its way out, while he looks up at Dean, eyes undoubtedly aglow from the joy of the past hours. His feelings are swirling like crazy, meshing with Dean’s, whose expression ripples with wicked delight.

Dean gives it exactly zero thoughts, the words falling between them without a hint of shame.

“I can lick you clean.”

Another tossing of a coin, but he feels the odds are decidedly in his favor. Being in his wolf form at the same time as Cas is working wonders. This has to be the first time he’s remained in the here and now with him, but he wonders how it’ll translate back into reality. He stares hard at Cas, because talking to him is like trying to count the leaves of a tree and constantly losing track. He isn’t even consciously ‘making offers’ as Cas dubs it. The ideas come naturally to him. With anyone else, he would likely think twice.

Cas. Not so much.

He gives himself a bit of an attitude, tugging his thumbs behind the waistband of his pants. His breath hitches when the fire he’s perceived in Cas’ eyes since they met genuinely ignites, while they track over his body, leaving ghostly marks as they go. And the way that one eyebrow shoots up… Yeah, that’s definitely working. Suddenly he’s too warm, the herbal bonfire crackling to life. He flusters, stuttering around the words.

“In wolf shape, man, the tongue is equipped for it. Though either/or really, if you keep staring like that. In _this_ form,” Dean gestures at his human shape, trying to go for funny in the face of oh, so many damned nerves, “I can’t promise you’ll be cleaner at the end of that particular endeavor.”

The licks exchanged mere moments ago were spontaneous. In the moment of a hunt. They made sense. This is… a human, intimate offer. A teasing one at that, because Dean can’t keep the twinkle out of his eyes or his voice. Much more intimate than anything they’ve done so far. His insides swirl pleasantly while he leans forward, wanting Cas’ reply. Cas’ consent.

He swears he can hear Cas’ heart beat louder, when he licks his lips, looking for all the world like he might take him up on the damn brazen offer. Next thing he wants to curse the sun down, when a howl cuts through the moment. He casts his eyes to the heavens, listening to the melody of the sound and his frustration makes way for urgency.

“Sam,” he mutters.

“And Charlie,” Cas says. “We have to go back.”

“We can carry this thing, right?”

Scoffing, Cas’ smirk is predatory through his bloodied scruff, when he tilts his head, confidently walking up to the stag. “Of course, Dean.”


	23. We Won't Be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who’s this furball?” Crowley asks, pointing at Benny.
> 
> Benny looks up from sharpening his axe, eyes glittering through his lashes. “A furball that’ll happily turn you into a rug, if need be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viking Benny was fun to create. Not that he gets a lot of in-depth screentime, so to speak, but still good fun.

Crowley smiles slyly while he sits down on the rock, adjusting his black coat and knocking some of the dust off. Three of his goons are behind him. Dean notices Ruby isn’t among them, so her vote going to Azazel clearly was not forgotten. He and Cas cleaned up marginally, but they both still look like… well, like they just ripped a stag’s throat out.

“Hello, boys.” His eyes flick from Cas to Dean and back with interest. “You’re both looking particularly gruesome. Couldn’t even get dressed decently for the occasion?”

Dean succeeds at not rolling his eyes, but Sam doesn’t try hiding his. Cas arches a challenging eyebrow and ignores the remark. He didn’t even bother to throw on a shirt, merely belted his sword on.

“Who’s this furball?” Crowley asks, pointing at Benny.

Benny looks up from sharpening his axe, eyes glittering through his lashes. “A furball that’ll happily turn you into a rug, if need be.”

His tone beautifully dead-pan, Dean has trouble not laughing, but Eileen and Charlie snicker. Crowley scowls, swaggering between that good-natured dismissal and disgusted anger he’s so good at.

“Where did you find this wild one?” Crowley nudges his chin towards Benny.

“A good ways away,” Dean says.

“So why aren’t you a good ways away, my good man?”

“Because a friend needs help and from what I understand, these traditionalists of yours, these Elysians can become a threat to us.”

“Two different things,” Crowleys says, wagging a finger smugly. “If you’re gonna meddle, get your facts straight.”

Benny’s face does that slow, unimpressed thing with his whole body. 

“Oh, I got my facts. One’s internal strife, because apparently your Tribes are all kinds of special. The other an external threat with a massive army and a tendency towards zealotry. If y’all Tribals don’t line up soon, you’ll set yourselves back enough to return to the damned Stone Age over some ridiculous limited views on lifestyle. In doing so you pave the way for said zealots, who have even more limited views on lifestyle. They might then find their way across the ocean and let that be something I’d rather avoid for me and mine. How am I doin’?”

Benny twirls his axe in his hand, tilting his head as he smiles. Crowley’s forehead wrinkles the more Benny speaks and Dean can’t begin to express his gratitude for his friend’s smarts and the brass on him. Even Cas is smiling, if somewhat reluctantly.

“I have missed you, brother,” Dean grins.

Benny winks, giving an almost delicate shrug from within the cloak.

“That is a fair assessment, but why should I risk my clan? Azazel’s happily doing his thing… You don’t know Elysium’s up to anything and until then, life goes on. Though some of my hunters did pick up lady Amara’s scent on Tribal lands.”

Cas’ eyes snatch to Crowley’ face. 

“Just her?” Dean asks.

“We tried to give chase, but she’s fast. And a witch, I believe,” Crowley adds. “We lost her within a day.”

“Why would she be out here?”

“No idea. And seeing it was only her, I couldn’t care less.”

“To only safeguard your pack while the world’s on fire is a bit short-sighted, Crowley, admit,” Samuel says, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand.

“Coming from you, that’s rich. Your post-War ideals line up perfectly with Azazel’s. And mine back then.”

Samuel’s expression shimmers with ill-concealed anger. “Once perhaps. It’s been a fair time since then. People change. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

Ignoring the last bit, Crowley takes in the group. “I see that. So many Omegas and Betas here. I feel outnumbered.”

 _“Welcome to our world,”_ Eileen smiles.

“You should see how heats go when there are barely any Alphas around to complicate things,” Bobby says.

Crowley looks to Dean. “You let them talk like that?”

Dean allows himself a wicked grin. “Crowley, _darling_ , they can talk to me any way they want when they’re fuckin’ right. And when they’re wrong.”

“Can we focus?” Deanna says, snapping her fingers at everyone. “All this posturing is tiring.”

Getting up from the rock, Meg sighs and takes off her jacket. Her jaw is set in a tight line and he can hear her chewing. “The old crone is right. Let me show you... what we risk, by doing nothing. And be aware, I’m not the only one at this table who has these scars and we have two young shifters back in the den who likely suffered similarly.”

Rather than rolling up her sleeves, she takes off her shirt completely, revealing a chest bound in rags, scars across her abdomen and shoulders, standing out harshly against her pale skin. Chin jutted out, she spreads her arms and turns around in a slow circle. Her back is no better. Her eyes are guarded, when she looks back at the group.

“I don’t know who did this… My memories are sketchy at best, but it’s been done to me regularly on your watch, Crowley.”

Visibly uncomfortable, Crowley purses his lips, clicks his tongue and shrugs, pointing to John. His eyes, however, are glued to Meg. “Talk to him.”

“No,” she bites. “I have talked to him.”

A look passes between her and John, which draws a forgiving expression from his father. Interesting development, Dean thinks, while Meg continues to address Crowley.

“I was part of your pack. Under your care. And somehow, this has been happening to me either with or without your knowledge.”

“I have no idea who did that to you.”

Dean drums his fingers on his thigh and joins in, because he senses something in Crowley’s tone. “That’s not a lie, but it ain’t the full truth either.”

Crowley looks to him, baring his teeth. “Mind your manners.”

For a split second, he considers his Voice, but in the same breath, he dismisses it. Cas is here and he’s suddenly wondering if he didn’t in fact promise not to use it again. 

“For all your faults, Crowley, surely you as an Alpha feel some responsibility towards your pack,” Dean says, “Or you wouldn’t be trying to avoid a head-on confrontation.”

“Of course I do!”

“Great,” Dean says humorlessly, earning an echoing dry laugh from Meg. “What’s it do to you, knowing that was done to one of yours without your knowledge?”

“What do you think, pup?”

“Don’t call me that,” Dean snaps, his skin crawling instantly. “And answer the damn question.”

Crowley holds his silence, eyes narrowed while they track over Meg’s body. He’s working his tongue inside his mouth, uneasy, annoyed, fingers rubbing together. His attention snaps back to the others. 

“Who else at this table?”

The silence that falls is heavy and Dean has half a mind to divert attention away from it.

“Me,” Cas says. He smiles at Dean, when their eyes meet and he knows his surprise is written all over his face. “Me and my nephew at the den.”

“And pray tell,” Crowley says, “You don’t remember anything either?”

“Well, my nephew doesn’t speak. He’s functional, physically speaking, but he’s mute. So whatever he knows is inaccessible. And the other shifter still hasn’t woken up. We think that maybe his body lives, but his mind is… gone, I suppose.”

“What about you?”

Cas raises his eyebrows delicately, before they knit together. His voice dips into something subtly painful, a connection to Dean opening up instantly. “I remember. Every moment. But…” He hesitates and there’s something in his scent Dean can’t quantify, before he presses on. “I was in Elysium when it happened to me and that was years ago. So I am not sure how it lines up, unless…”

“Unless whoever did it to you back then is now on the loose here,” John finishes for him.

“Or the disease spread,” Cas shrugs. “Because it’s… There’s something wrong in his head.”

“Who?” Dean asks.

Even though he knows, he suddenly feels that he needs to be the one asking Cas. His beautiful face hardens, his dark scruff standing out against his suddenly paler skin. He doesn’t look at anyone, while he schools his features better. To hide just enough. The feeling he’s trying to mask bleeds through their bond and Dean swallows hard against the bile that’s rising by proxy. He’s seen the red eyes when Cas took him on that trip down memory lane, smelled the scent and he knows who it is. He doubts he can ever forgive himself for letting him get away.

“Lucifer.”

Crowley gapes and there’s a round of subtle reactions from those present. “ _Lucifer_? Crazy Lucifer, the prized former golden prince of Elysium? Bloody Lucifer had a go at you? Why?”

“Like I said… Sick in the head. He was trying to continue their line by… breeding people against their will.” Cas looks to his hands, fidgeting with the rim of his coat sleeves. One leg starts bouncing and he chews the skin of his thumbnail.

Dean desperately wants to wrap Cas in his arms, because the shame he feels runs so gruesomely deep, he doesn’t know if he can ever truly understand it, let alone protect Cas from it. Which is hubris in and of itself, because Cas has been living with it for years. Sapphire eyes meet his, wide and without hesitation. In this instant, he understands why Cas wants to leave, but it’s for the wrong damned reasons and…

“What did Amara say?” John mutters, leaning forward. “That he likes to roam?”

Crowley all but snarls. “Are you telling me that headcase is roaming our lands and stealing our people to continue their inbred family?”

“Good. That’s the reaction we’ve been looking for,” Sam says.

“Well, what do you bloody suggest? Let’s take The Bunker by storm, kill Azazel, upend all our laws and put a target on everyone’s back, likely upsetting our very foundations in equal measure for Elysium to swoop in?”

“I like the killing Azazel part,” Charlie says. “He threw John out of his home and kept his wife. My mate is currently with him in an attempt to keep those who remain under his rule safe.”

“I’m partial to killing him too, darling, but can we please think beyond short-term solutions! Idealism only gets you so far, when there’s a tangible reality and a fall-out to deal with. You can change the laws, but that doesn’t mean your people will fall in line. No, you’ll need to patrol villages, arrest those who don’t obey, bring them to justice, which is a whole slew of domino stones that will start falling endlessly.”

“You’re right,” Dean says, raising his hands instinctively, because he can feel Cas’ response.

Damn if Crowley isn’t clever. Dean sighs and continues, drawing them into a conversation on a matter that’s been ruminating in his mind for years. 

“When is the last time any of you paid real attention to the dynamics in a pack of wolves?”

Crowley shrugs. “Why? We aren’t actual wolves.”

“But we claim roles like they do and some of us walk around in their skin. I feel most of us have forgotten or no longer understand.”

Cas’ interest peaks and he physically sits closer to Dean, drawing a smile from Charlie.

Crowley grunts, rubbing a hand over his face, rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I’m going to regret this, but what do you mean? What have we forgotten?”

“There is no alpha in wolf packs.”

“Well aware, it’s the leader pair. Mom and dad, if you will.”

“Except they’re both alphas. They cooperate. It’s not a matter of subservience.”

“We work together as a group too.”

Dean grunts, disbelief at Crowley’s remark scrunching up his face. “No, we don’t. We fight all the time. In many ways, we’re closer to rabid dogs than wolves.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He presses on, sensing everyone leaning into the conversation. Their ears are perked, their eyes on him, which is somewhat uncomfortable, but suddenly Cas’ hand is on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re right, scratch that. The fighting? Fighting for the sake of principles as intangible as air, based on ideals and insane religious concepts… That is uniquely human. Animals don’t do that. They fight to protect and survive.”

Samuel frowns, moving both arms while he speaks, seeking clarity. He’s never had his grandfather’s attention this way. “We protect our own as well, Dean. It’s what Alphas do.”

“I know Omegas who can protect more and better, because they’re not driven by an Alpha’s hormonal stupidity or territorial bullshit. And I know Alphas who don’t fit the part.” He swallows hard. “I’m one of them.”

“Dean…”

“Dad, spare me,” he mutters. His cheeks are heating up, blood rushing all the way to the tips of his ears. “You’ve all known for years. I am trained to fit the part, but the part doesn’t fit me. It’s as simple as that.”

Crowley scoffs. “This is all very endearing, these… family revelations, but I fail to see the point.”

“The fucking point,” Dean snarls, “Is that we force people into their roles, even when they tell us the role they present as doesn’t feel right. That it isn’t who they feel to be at heart. That the rules that go with that role aren’t what they want or need.”

“The roles have helped us shape our lives. We wouldn’t be where we are without them,” Crowley says.

“Sure. For those lucky enough to be in charge. The Nomads were right to leave a situation of strife. If you look at a wolf pack, wolves work together to survive and thrive. When there’s internal strife, individual members actually leave packs. They roam on their own or they join another one. Hell, it’s even fairly common for one wolf to belong to more than one pack.”

He looks to Sam and Cas, pleading, nails digging into the palms of his folded hands. “The Nomads were right. You are right. All of you. The world has changed. If the leader pair can be two alphas, they can be two betas or two omegas. Or more than two. Or any combination of any of them. If you insist on tradition, perhaps it’s time to look to our four-legged kin.”

An explosive sigh escapes Crowley. “I’m all for free love, Dean, I really am, but…”

He cuts him off, the words desperate to get out. “If patrolling villages and bringing knotheads to justice is what we need to do, that’s what we do, is what I’m saying, Crowley. If Omegas can be forced to mate someone not of their choosing, we can make the opposite possible. No one said it was going to be easy. To thrive, we cooperate. And there’s more of us than there are of them.”

He hears the murmur rippling through the group and suddenly feels like he dominated the whole conversation, which seems so counterintuitive to what he’s been saying. Cas’ fingers are pressing into his muscles hard enough to bruise, so he closes his hand over his.

The look he’s bestowed speaks of one too many emotions at once, none of which he’s capable of identifying. But it’s drawing him towards Cas, not pushing him away.

“No more inter-Tribal bickering,” John says.

“You can’t force that,” Samuel mutters. “It’ll turn into another dogma.”

“Why does it always have to be the hard way or the high way?” Charlie huffs.

“You tell ‘em, little red,” Deanna grins.

“It’s re-educating,” Charlie says. “I mean… yeah, if you start locking everyone up and killing them, it’s dogmatic, but if you try to educate them, make them understand…”

“Oh, the Devil take you all, now we’re talking about raising them from scratch. You lot are giving me a headache,” Crowley groans, resting his head in his hands, eyes closed. He punctuates each word with both hands pressed together. “Why - am - I - here?”

“That is an excellent question,” Cas says. “Why did you come here, if you are genuinely comfortable with this status quo?”

Crowley rests black eyes on him. “I actually don’t give a rat’s ass who mates who, or what for that matter, and who worships what. I don’t need Azazel and Elysium in league for whatever vague purpose, targeting our shifters.”

 _“So you think they are? Working together, I mean,_ ” Eileen asks.

“If Meg’s been snatched to and from our pack for no other reason than to inflict that on her,” Crowley says, waving his hand. “Get dressed, darling.”

“Oh, now you get uncomfortable? Charmed,” Meg quips, though her voice quivers.

“If it is Lucifer,” Cas adds, “He’s likely not working alone. Michael was part of his little crew back then and I’m sure it’s grown.”

“It sounds like something right up Alastair’s alley, to be honest,” Sam points out. “Which means we won’t just be taking on Azazel.”

“Well, it was never going to be just Azazel, right?” Charlie says.

“One question though,” John sighs, voice weary. “Why? Why this and why now?”

A silence falls, each of them contemplating the question, mulling over the potential answers, if any. Dean’s mind works the different angles, calling up what he remembers from Bobby’s classes. The truth is they don’t know Elysium as well as they think they do.

“The long road to revenge?” Samuel offers.

“Destabilizing an existing society is the surest way towards eventually creating a power vacuum,” Benny says. “Does it really matter whether it’s for revenge, politics or conquest?”

“It changes their behaviour,” John says, “So it helps to understand and anticipate their objectives. If it’s revenge, the chances they want to burn and raze are higher than when it’s conquest.”

“Religion drives Elysium,” Cas says. “The conviction that theirs is the true line of descendants from God and the need to spread that religion at all costs, while maintaining the pure family line.”

There’s a dismal fatigue bleeding through Cas’ scent. Dean can only imagine what it must be like to have something you’ve barely escaped from with your life, your friend and daughter follow you all the way into your new life. He squeezes down on Cas’ hand and releases him. Cas brings the hand up to his face, inhaling subtly, his scent vibrating gently under the soothing effect.

“Exactly. We know they need Omegas,” Charlie says. “They came to our doorstep. Maybe it was a… what you call it, diversion. Let us think they’re all civilized and changed, while they make contact with Azazel.”

“Suppose they are. That at least tells us they will not kill us all,” Deanna says. “They’ll just put Betas and Omegas in chains and likely kill every Alpha who doesn’t fit that pure profile of theirs.”

“You’re a joy to be around,” Crowley mutters.

“It’s in the cards, dear.”

“You sound like my bloody mother.”

That draws at least four pairs of eyes to him. “Your mother wouldn’t happen to be a certain, so-called neutral, redheaded Oracle, would she?” Sam asks.

Crowley frowns. “Nothing gets past you lot, does it? What’s it matter?”

John snaps his fingers a few times. “Is she neutral? Truly neutral as she claims.”

“Of course not. She lost her lover in the war. Though I suppose it gives her sufficient reason not to help start a new one, I can never quite tell where she stands.”

“How did he die?”

“Your guess is as good as hers or mine.”

“Great,” Samuel mutters.

“What?”

“If Elysium or Azazel managed to convince her one way or the other it was any one of us…”

“We’ve got my witch of a mother lined up against us too,” Crowley finishes. “That’s just lovely.”

“One thing at a damn time,” Dean snaps.

His head is starting to spin and he wants to get Cas away from this.

“So it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” Sam asks Crowley.

“Let’s say you’ve convinced me of the need to align. For now.”

A collective sigh goes through the group, eliciting a conceited smile from Crowley.

“Alright. How many shifters do you bring to the table?”

“How about I go talk to my pack and some other… affiliate groups and I’ll let you know? I can commit myself to this, but there’s just four of us, in case you can’t count and we’re going to need a lot more, if we’re going up against Azazel and all of Elysium.”

Dean rubs his fingers to his forehead. “I’m starving…”

Cas chuckles next to him. “Well, we did bring home a whole damn stag.”

 _Home_.

“Stay for dinner, dear,” Deanna smiles at Crowley. “Then they can work out the kinks.”

“What kinks?”

“Well, you didn’t think you’d be leaving without a few of ours as insurance that you’ll do as you promise, did you?”

She reaches out, patting his cheek, making him splutter indignantly. “Enough, you old bat.”

He looks up at the intensity in Cas’ scent. His whole body is like a question he knows the answer to, even when there are no words involved. Perhaps he’s getting the hang of this language after all.

Instinctively, he goes towards him.


	24. Cut Me Loose

Of course Dean obliges him and follows along when Castiel walks them away from the direction of the den. The way everyone else is going and where Dean should be going. Such a trusting pup… Though he can tell Dean’s aware of the warmth swirling and laving at Castiel’s insides.

“Cas?” Dean asks on a low quiver.

His hand opens and closes into a fist, the other haplessly resting on his sword handle. Not enough clothes really, to give himself an attitude. Castiel grins.

Hope and anticipation rush from Dean to him in relentless waves and it feels like a dam broke, and for all that’s happened in the past few days, it might have. It must have. It has. Dean huffs a soft laugh, nervous, warm, and he can taste his sweat on the air, mingling delightfully with his own arousal. He sees it on his brow and in the back of his neck, where his hand is palming it away. 

The mark on the inside of his arm is a testament to his choices. Choices Castiel tried to deny or ignore, but the way he revealed himself to so many people at once, vulnerable, other, acknowledging the Nomads’ path in ways no Alpha before has, his head is swimming and his heart swelling so much, his ribs might crack under the pressure. He wonders if beyond the veil, someone would be able to see the energy traveling between himself and Dean, the threads connecting them.

They both feel them.

“Cas, I… Hrrrm…” His voice breaks and Dean’s swallowing hard, so his eyes track the bob in his throat helplessly.

Dean’s brow knits together and his breathing’s ramping up, though they’re not even in extremely close proximity. His gorgeous eyes travel up to the looming trees around them and he smiles, a soft, heady sound, a gift to the air, much like his scent. The fragrance of a wet forest, its layers unfolding in their complex beauty, allowing Castiel to breathe better. Deeper. He tracks Dean’s every gesture, senses on edge, vision sharp. Dean’s chest heaves and he rolls his shoulders, hands falling to his belt, _unclasping it._

The motion lights up the air between them, sparks traveling within the space. Castiel’s vision goes red and he drops lower, bending his knees lightly, to make it easier to run, to chase, if need be. Apprehension swirls up from the part that’s been in control in recent years, which at once remembers and fears he has forgotten.

Dean lets rip a soothing rumble. “Cas, fuck, you’re all over the place… I can feel it. It’s… shit, you’re… a lot.”

He unhooks the sword from his belt and drops it to the soil. The sound of the grass bending underneath it and his moving feet is louder than it should be. Emerald eyes find his, when he palms at his groin, drawing Castiel’s attention to his erection, pulling his pants taut. He handles the belt with deliberate care, folding it double and, holding it extended between his hands, snaps the leather together. Castiel blinks, breath loud even to his own ears, saliva pooling in his mouth, when Dean wraps the leather around his own wrists. The ease with which he does it suggests he’s done it before and that sets off his Alpha.

“Dean…” He tries for warning, but lands on desperate and aroused.

Dean’s lips split into a feral, yet somehow comforting smile, which must be in his eyes, always the eyes. _“I know.”_

He bares his neck to Castiel, as he raises his arms above his head, leisurely resting them on the back of it, his stomach naked and vulnerable. His words travel the distance, soft-spoken but unwavering, while he leans back on his heels, finding purchase against the tree.

“This society doesn’t get to tell me my instincts or yours are wrong.” His voice is even, measured, exuding such control and trust, Castiel feels like his polar opposite. “I decide who I give myself to, when and how. Which right now, Cas, means I’ll have your fear, I’ll take your anger, I’ll take whatever you need me to… if it means drawing you through it.”

Desire courses through him and he hardens at Dean’s tempting, willing submission.

“As long as you’ll need it. I can take whatever you bring, _provided you fucking bring it, Cas_ …”

The last bit is a tease, because his want is ripping through his scent like claws through gossamer. With a snarl, Castiel shoots forward, barely registering Dean’s relieved ‘Finally…’ and all but pins him to the tree, the scrape of the bark on Dean’s back audible. 

A sharp intake of air, teeth clicking together at Dean’s ear, he slides his hands up his flanks and grabs the belt, twisting it so he needs only one hand to hold him in place. Dean arches into his touch with such sweet ease and abandon, his wolves demand to know why they haven’t done this sooner. His perception of the world is reduced to Dean under his lips and hands, warm, willing, their bond a wildly swirling liquid that’s washing over him.

Dean gasps out a chuckle, breathing delightfully fast. “What’s – gotten you – so worked – up?”

Valid question. Answer’s a bit muddled due to his wolves in complete disarray, though he knows he has it in human sounds.

“You,” he growls, while he snuffles up and down Dean’s neck, drawing a heady laugh out of him. “That delicious display of constructive, forward thinking. Taking over from the old world men. Admitting your vulnerability…”

He zones in on Dean’s mating gland and molds his lips around it, shivers coursing through Dean from the point of contact.

“Oh, fuck me,” Dean whines, the last word dragging out almost endlessly, when Castiel scrapes his teeth along the pulsing vein.

Quite.

Reluctantly, he retreats from Dean’s neck, made worse when Dean protests, until he realizes Castiel wants to get their pants off. Dean wiggles along helpfully, laughing sweetly with every kiss Castiel plants on revealed skin, until they’re both, as Dean would say, 'buck-ass naked'. He's slicking already, which he wants to not be okay with, but at the same time, the stronger urge to embed himself in Dean and knot him rides his spine, lighting up his brain in a way he hasn't felt in decades.

Both... He can't quite catch up, because Dean's seemingly endless freckled body is under his hands, his tongue, his lips, promising to bend to his will. He takes and surrenders, holding a frantic part of his mind at bay, because he needs this. As much as he can't say it out loud, as much as he fears he will break apart admitting it, he does. Dean pushes and pulls at him, not with his hands, but in the way he moves under his hands and with his scent, most of all. Every sweet huff and deep sound a testament to his surrender, while still being so much of _him_. All of it, which is a lot more than Castiel bargained for or can even wrap his head around. Dean. Impatient, greedy, beautiful.

Without too much of a stuttering, disbelieving thought, he slicks his fingers up, and relishes how Dean's pupils are blown wide, when he slides them between his legs. Dean’s scent spikes, like throwing oil on a bonfire. The emotions swirling in those spring-bright eyes are almost too much to bear, so he kisses him, chasing his taste and moans, so he can inhale him, swallow him whole, while he teases at Dean's rim. He wants to take his time with Dean for so many reasons at once, some less chivalrous than others, but he's almost vibrating out of his skin with need and the filth Dean's muttering into him, their scent weaving a hot pocket of air around the two of them, is undoing Castiel bit by bit.

"Fuck, yes, Cas, please... I want..."

Whatever Dean wants deteriorates into a long, drawn-out sound of pleasure, when Castiel breaches him, scissoring his fingers gently. He drops his head back, knocking it against the tree trunk, eyes closed, lips parted. For a few intense heartbeats, he watches, while he works Dean open. With every tease and thrust, Dean's willing surrender, this gorgeous Alpha fucking down on his fingers, takes apart slivers of him that still believe in the ways of the old world. His eyes snap open and zone in on Castiel with alarming focus, as if he feels the wordless sentiments, churning wildly within.

"Come on, Alpha," Dean snarls, a sound at once desperate and impudent, it pulls a responsive one from Castiel.

He coats himself up, nostrils flaring at their combined fragrances, Dean's strong arms working to accommodate him. They're reduced to panting into each other's mouths, lips clinging to each other, when Castiel pushes into him. Slow, until Dean releases some of his weight and cleaves to him, a wicked smile quickly giving way to glazed eyes and a deep kiss. Castiel's head is spinning, as he grabs hold of Dean's ass to pace him, when the tangy bite of pain whiffs through the pleasure.

Which is when his mind starts to catch up a bit. Marginally.

“Hmmph, Cas, it burns,” he whimpers, “But so good.”

Cas’ hips come to a near-immediate halt and he mewls in protest, eyes opening blearily. Whatever his face conveys provokes a feral smile from Cas, though his eyes are swirling with affection. A particularly heated kind. Everything about him is so blissfully warm. The hand that had a bruising grip on his hip is gone, he realizes, but then it appears in front of his mouth.

“Open up for me, Dean…”

He obeys blindly, sensing Cas’ pleasure at being trusted so easily, but his eyes catch how Cas’ fingers glisten. His nostrils flare and his pupils are blown wide when the scent of slick invades him. A debauched sound escapes him as he surges forward to suck Cas’ fingers into his mouth, eyes falling shut when the flavor hits.

“Oh, mmmh, Cas,” he pants around the digits, circling his tongue, laving it up.

The edges of his vision flash red and hold, coating the world in pure Alpha arousal. How utterly divine Cas tastes, he’s willing to believe in more than one pantheon, when it soothes him and the burn he’s experiencing instantly. He must be a sight, because Cas smiles as he pulls his fingers from his mouth, a destitute whine with it, but instantly works his tongue inside. The gesture muffles his protests, but only barely.

“Mmwhat?” Cas mumbles into him, sucking on his tongue.

“I… My head is swimming,” he pants on a smile.

Because it is. Wildly. His Alpha is in full agreement with being pinned up against the tree, the bark causing a delightful burn, Cas buried balls deep inside him, slicked fingers in his mouth mere moments ago. At the same time, he wants to eat Cas out, drink his slick down, and knot the ever-living daylights out of him.

Cas laughs, boxing him in on either side with strong arms, as he undulates his hips. A wild sound, his laughter, new to his ears, gums showing, and oh, Dean is a complete goner for how beautiful Cas is like this.

He apparently also babbled all of that out loud, because his filter is obliterated and he didn’t realize how much he _needed this._ His cheeks heat up, though not out of shame but rather a sense of sudden belonging, when Cas’ large hands grab his ass and pull his cheeks wider so he can grind into him deeper. Dean bites his lip as he clutches on, floating on the slicked warmth of them, working to meet Cas, because _Morrigan_ , he is being served perfectly and Cas deserves his best. His breath is knocked out of him with every thrust and his eyes flutter shut, arms caught between his neck and the tree.

“Tell me, Dean,” Cas whispers in his ear, licking the lobe into his mouth and biting down.

The deep rumble those words travel on vibrates through him. When Dean doesn’t immediately respond, because he’s too busy being fucked to focus, and he doesn’t quite know what to tell Cas, fingers twist into his hair and pull. He opens his eyes to find Cas’ burning into him.

“Fuck me,” he keens at the sight, uselessly scrambling for a hold on the bark.

“Already on it.” Cas flashes him a wicked grin and slows his hips down delightfully, drawing Dean out of his throes. “Tell me what your Alpha wants to do to me.”

His eyes travel up to Dean’s bound hands. “What those hands would do to me…”

Dean brings his arms down around Cas’ neck, his fingers carding through the sweaty, curly hair at the base of his neck. His nostrils flare when a waft of their mixed scents and fluids travels up between them and he twists his arm around the back of Cas’ neck to suck his sweaty digits into his mouth. He grins wickedly at Cas’ indulgent eyebrow, which makes all kinds of suggestions about what else could go in his mouth or where those fingers could go, and suddenly he wants to taste other parts of him.

An advice bleeds from his Alpha to tread lightly around the answer to Cas’ question. He grasps it, even while he’s slowly falling apart at Cas’ hands. He’s seen enough victims to understand that the question is part curiosity, part fear. Maybe part dirty talk, because Cas is, well… Cas, and who knows? There’s a lot he doesn’t know yet. He lets his head fall back to the tree, drawing Cas’ gaze to his exposed neck. Another sign of trust, which softens the furrowed brow Cas has going.

“I want to taste more of you. Lap up your slick straight from the source and let it melt on my tongue, slide down my throat, before kissing you. I’ll drink you down until your legs are shaking with want.”

Cas’ eyes are doing more glorious things with every honest word he utters. The outside of his iris flashes red, but it flickers out time and again, when a burst of gold pops from the center. It is hypnotizing. Dean breathes in, wanting his lungs to burn with Cas’ essence. He allows himself a smile, when Cas’ hips still fully, and nips at his beautiful lips.

 _Important_ , his Alpha provides unnecessarily.

“I’ll ask what you want. My tongue or my dick. Your choice, Alpha, always, until you tell me otherwise.”

Cas’ lips move, but no sounds are coming out. Red and gold swirl in his eyes and a tremble wracks through his frame. Dean supplies a soothing sentiment through their bond, pulling Cas in slowly so he can exhale between his parted lips when he speaks.

“How does that sound?”

Cas blinks and the colours blend momentarily into a beautiful rose gold, a hue he’s never seen before in his life, but then he has never met anyone like Cas before.

“That…” His beautiful deep voice breaks, drawing a surge of protective empathy from him. “That sounds perfectly acceptable.”

For a blessedly confused moment, Dean cocks his head at the choice of words, but he rolls with it, when Cas kisses down his jaw, breath even hotter and, thankfully, starts moving again, albeit agonizingly slow and teasing. He pins Dean’s arms back above his head. “Tell me more.”

How he does it is beyond Dean, when his next figure eight drags the tip of his cock slowly over that spot. He relaxes his core muscles, fucking down on him harder in search of the sensation, insofar as he can. Insofar as Cas _allows_ him, when his arms are pushed back up overhead and the grip on the belt is back, pulling him tauter.

“Ahhhmmph, Cas, Cas… fuck, don’t stop me..”

“Focus, pup.”

Something shifted thanks to his first answer. An affirmation that’s whirling in Cas, urging him on, his arousal heavier on the air, the fire roaring to life, want and need coming off him like pure, hot flames. Which part of him Dean managed to reassure doesn’t quite matter right now, though he should probably figure that out later, when his brain is working again. He keens when Cas slams in harder, prattling out answers.

“I want to feel the weight of your cock on my tongue and have your knot in my mouth.”

Cas stutters momentarily, letting rip a delightful growl.

“You… What? Fuck, you can’t say things like that.”

“I can’t? But you asked,” he chuckles, gazing at Cas fondly. “Glad to know it hits home.”

Cas claims his mouth in an obvious attempt to shut him up, fucking into him with more than a hint of desperation. Dean opens up easily, cleaves to him, laughing into the open-mouthed kisses, loving the infuriation that seeps through after.

“Got a bit of an oral fixation, pup?”

“Duh,” he grins, twinkling at Cas’ unsuccessful grumpy expression. “Hardly sounds like you’ll get the short end of that deal, old man.”

Shaking his head once, looking for all the world like he can’t believe his luck, Cas hums in agreement, nibbling at his lower lip. “What else?”

“I do wanna knot you,” he mutters, voice softer, because it feels like a risk. “Claim you. I can’t deny that part of me. But…”

“I hear what you’re saying, Dean,” Cas says.

He lets go of the belt, Dean’s burning arms falling forward so they can drape across his shoulders. Cas gets impossibly closer to him, deeper too, his skin burning on his, but so much softer, warmer, kinder at the admission. The kiss he sweeps him up in is beyond any they’ve shared before, as if he’s soothing Dean instead of the other way around. It's working too, because he whines, the sound dancing through him before it settles into a deep purr and Dean relinquishes another part of himself to Cas.

He's not sure what pushes them over, but Cas groans deeper at a true Alpha frequency, which shoots his moans up higher. Then teeth scrape over Dean's neck, the intent of mating heady in their scents, and suddenly Cas' knot is really catching and Dean's lost to the world, his orgasm the violent, unexpected kind that has him howling, forgetting about everything except _them_. On a terrifying growl, Cas' knot locks them together, when he fills him up.

It's a trembling return to this earth, Cas' face buried in his neck, Dean clinging to him as if he doesn't weigh 190 pounds and Cas' limbs aren't shaking. Nudging into Cas' temple, he whines, because he wants kisses and he wants to see his face, but Cas grumbles softly. He squeezes Dean closer to him, insofar as that's even possible. Dean lets rip an insistent whimper, which provokes a deep chuckle and Cas marginally shifts, so one sky-blue eye comes into view. Dean noses into his cheek, licking the sweat off him.

“I want to nest with you, bury myself in sheets and blankets and pillows that smell like you. Like us.”

Curiosity spiking through his scent, Cas tilts his head sideways further, his expression suddenly so soft it’s making Dean weak in the knees. And he thought the sex already did him in.

“Is that your Alpha?”

Dean clenches down on him, licking his lips on an annoyed purr. “That’s me, Cas. Just me.”

"Hold on, pup."

Shamelessly, Cas puts his strength to good use, pulling Dean close to him, while he finds his balance around their combined mass and weight. It's almost too easy for him, which has Dean's insides swirling in that sweet, sticky way. Cas eases himself against the tree, inching both of them down, until he's sitting with Dean straddling him. Every gesture sends a jolt of pleasure through them, Dean adjusting to the feel of having Cas' knot connecting them. By the time they're somewhat settled, Dean's muscles are shaking and he picks up a sour, almost acidic intrusion in their scent. He lets out an explosive sigh, sliding his hands over Cas' chest, and squeezes down on his flanks.

“You’re a bit tiring, you know that? Especially so shortly after what we did. Scent me, it’ll make you feel better.”

Cas looks away, but puts his arms around Dean and breathes in. Dean rests there for a while, picking out the emotions, dipping in and discerning between them. Despite being palpably relaxed, Dean finds a lot of guilt and that stubborn inability to stay within the moment. Cas is constantly drawn either to the past or the future, neither of which looks very bright through his eyes.

“I have a wild idea, Cas.”

When he doesn’t respond, Dean gently nudges his cheek with two fingers to get him to turn, willing some plea into his intent. The tendon in Cas’ neck stands out when he resists. On a surge of impatience, he grabs him by the chin. Cas glowers when he grabs his wrist and pries his hand off. Dean resists in turn and they find themselves in a stalemate. For all the ease he felt during their hunt and in the briefest aftermath, it seems theirs is and might remain a dynamic of temperaments.

“Tell me then… your wild idea that will miraculously make me less tiring.”

“I didn’t say that, because I’m not sure that’s going to be in the cards. But how about you stay with me in our here and now, that here and now our wolves are so good at. Trust them. Like on the hunt...”

“Do you choose to disregard what I tell you? Or is it just a given? I don’t trust my wolf, that’s the whole damned point.”

“No, Cas, you don’t. And that’s the whole problem, because _they_ know… Our wolves always know. Mine does, I can feel it. I felt it ever since I met you. And ever since you told me some of it, I think I am beginning to understand.”

Cas seems genuinely worried at that. He shivers, trying to push Dean away while pulling him closer with a soft sound.

“Your wolf is still… everything he’s meant to be. Mine is warped.”

He raises gentle eyebrows. “There’s so much wrong with your words, I don’t even know where to start.”

Cas’ mouth ticks up in an indulgent way. “Give it time. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

He clicks his tongue, scowling fondly. “Yeah, you’re right, I think I do. For starters, you’re not warped, you’re beautiful. Secondly, I may be an Alpha, but I think we established I have deviant tendencies that undercut that.”

Cas makes a fussing sound at him and he can feel the intense annoyance. “You’re not deviant.”

“To me, neither are you. My wolf knows, Cas, at a level I can’t even begin to describe. So does yours, because he keeps steering you towards me.”

“I never said mine was smart…”

Dean laughs heartily, throwing his head back, and scoots closer, wrapping his arms around him.

“Neither is mine. They’re instinct. Trust. _Cas_ …”

The openness seems to frighten Cas, as if he risks drowning, and he looks away, provoking a snarl from Dean. He straddles Cas, hands on his chest so he can feel his heart beating intimately under his palm.

“Cas, kiss me.”

Cas whines softly when that pulls at his core unforgivingly with the strength of what powers the very universe. It’s so strong, he is lifted away from the tree, his back arching up. He pants heavily and snarls an order at Dean to back off, while whimpering he wants to surrender and claim at once. It sends Dean’s mind spinning with hope. But Cas is stubborn, he can see it in the way he sets his jaw and pushes his back into the tree.

“ _Alpha_.”

_Oh, no. Nonono._

Castiel grabs at Dean’s wrists, terrified of what the pup is up to. “Dean, don’t.”

He looks up at Dean, heart hammering painfully under Dean’s hands, his blood rushing instantly at the moniker, appalled Dean would so carelessly draw him out this way. Dean twists his shirt into his hands, leaning over, teeth bared as he enunciates every word while holding Castiel’s eyes.

“Alpha-mine, I need you.”

A violent, deep moan is torn from his chest painfully. Cas’ vision flares red. Dean’s eyes widen at the sight and he smiles, as his grip on Cas’ shirt slackens.

A shattering deep within wracks through his frame and in an instant, Castiel’s overrun by two parts running wild. His system is at once on fire and flooded with forgotten urges and new instincts, battling for dominances. All of a sudden he’s drowning as his skin burns, peeling off his frame. He gasps for air and feels like his lungs are filling with water. It is a swift experience, ferocious in how it takes him over and swipes him off his feet.

He can’t breathe, while they rage and he’s swept up in their energies. He needs to get a handle on them, but he doesn’t know, doesn’t know which of them is truly him anymore… He’s been avoiding them for so long, unable, unwilling to trust either instinct enough to surrender.

Dean’s voice cuts through the haze.

He can see once more and finds his vision filled with Dean, a bright light fanning out from his core, Castiel narrows his eyes. It is almost too bright, for all that he’s used to the dark. His breathing comes in ragged bursts, while he trembles under him.

All he feels in this blessed form lines up instantly and protectively around the Alpha in his lap, around Dean. His body opens up painfully, unfolding like the petals on a flower under the caress of the morning sun.

Dean’s breath hitches when he feels it, eyes alight with wonder and awe. His voice sends jolts of promise dancing across Castiel’s skin. “You’re glorious, Alpha.”

Castiel’s face does things, he knows it does, but he has no idea what it lands on. Dean’s expression softens, but there’s a sliver of delectable desire lacing his scent when he smiles down at him, eyes darkening.

“I need you to kiss me with everything you’ve got.”

Oh, Castiel does.

He surges up, one arm snaking around Dean’s back, the other to his waist and relishes the moment Dean goes pliant with a sigh under his touch as he flips them. Dean lands on his back, hands sliding down Castiel’s arms, but he’s fully open. In one smooth move, Castiel leans over him and their gazes meet, when he claims Dean’s lips with his own.

“What did you do?”

“Cas, I’m an Alpha… I kinda have a fair idea how we function. Our instincts to protect are pure and when _asked_ to step up by… Well, we usually do.”

“But…”

“I am sorry I drew you out like that. But what happened to you, what was done to you,” Dean snarls, and they cuddle closer, mutual slivers of the urge to protect extending towards each other, “It made you forget, Cas. Who you are.”

“Because I am not the same.”

“I… am not sure what you mean.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“I feel enough of it. You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with when you want to.”

“It’s… vile.”

Dean puts his hands over his heart, doubling over in pain.

“Dean! What…”

“Stop… saying… that. It actually physically hurts. I can feel your disdain for yourself. Oh… gods, Cas… please stop.”

Panicked concern overwrites the rest, as he wraps his arms around Dean, muttering soothing words into his hairline. Dean extends the same sentiment to him through his scent. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Me neither,” Dean groans as he tilts his head up, lips parted.

He instinctively leans in and kisses him, allowing his flavor to flood Dean’s senses. It works wonders for both of them as he cards his fingers softly through his hair, his thumbs over his scruff. Dean’s eyes are softer when they break apart.

“None of _them_ ever knew. They still don’t.”

“Your point?”

“Cas, have you seen how people move around you? They trust you, they _love_ you.”

Castiel pales and shakes his head. Dean grabs his face.

“Don’t you dare. Stay here with me.”

Though he can’t fathom why beyond Dean, he does. Strange how, after what they did, this is the most intimate yet.


	25. Until Morale Improves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He forces the words out. “My voice is back to normal, I think.”
> 
> Mmh, bad choice, he thinks, when Cas freezes and abandons his endeavor to swamp his vision. “And?” he asks, voice unsure.
> 
> “How would you feel if I tried to heal with it?”
> 
> Cas’ lips part on a curious ‘o’ and his eyes skitter upwards, while he lets the question sink in. His brow starts doing things, which are all very adorable, until they shoot up and he settles his gaze on Jack. “You want to try and heal him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One long title provided the halfs for this and the next chapter: [Until Morale Improves, The Beatings Will Continue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gy1V2LY9to), again Murder By Death. Very subtle title, I know. So yeah, if you don't like the genre, whelp, I clearly do.
> 
> So yes, more shit to hit the fan. Tell me, what type of Stupid are you expecting to happen?
> 
> Huggles to you,  
> Mal

Castiel finds himself experiencing a fair amount of firsts. Their entire pack smells it on them as soon as they return. The general consensus he seems to pick up from all of them echoes Dean.

_Finally._

Dean doesn’t even try to be subtle about it, undoubtedly riding a similar high, but hopelessly ill-equipped not to ooze satisfaction. Or not prone to it, he muses, as he watches him move through the Nomads like warm water. Part of him is in the same spheres, soaring. His Alpha’s preening, bursting at the smug seams, while his Omega’s whining, because they didn’t fully get what they wanted. A confusing enough mindset to be in, if he wasn’t still trying to wrap his head around what he and Dean had done.

He hasn’t known freely chosen sex. Or was that… breeding? Love-making?

His insides tighten at the uncertainty he feels. Curse his family’s dogmatic ways that distorted it beyond words. Dean gave himself up, tying himself down so he was at Castiel’s mercy, which, yes, played right into his cards, but now, in the aftermath, seems so reckless. Dangerous. What if his Alpha lost control? What if his Omega triggered Dean’s Alpha?

The scent of his own slick is on his fingers when he wipes his eyes and a sense of disgust comes over him. Almost instantly Dean’s hand hovers near his lower back. Not touching him, but _there._ Aware, somehow, and this is indeed promising if he ever wants to hold matters close to his chest anymore. Even if he manages to keep thoughts to himself, he won’t be able to fully hide what he’s feeling.

So it seems.

Yet there’s an implicit trust, because Dean doesn’t push and Castiel finds himself like a babbling brook, trickling and flowing towards him, meandering the surroundings, the obstacles, until he’s sleeping in Dean’s tent each night, Charlie, Jack and Claire in tow. Lee and Gadreel too, which makes for a full tent and barely any privacy, but he doesn’t need it. In fact, Dean needs them close. Castiel can sense that as sure as the impending storm in the air and the warmth under his sternum, or the beating of Jack and Claire’s heart in sleep.

He and Dean wrap around each other at night, the strength of their scent-bond intensifying every time they do. The Nomads band around them, echoing the cave, but it’s so much more real this time, when they once more rearrange the tents so they’re fanning out like a spider’s web, connected by invisible threads.

The second morning, a day after Crowley left with John, Meg, Bobby and Karen as back-up, he runs into Sam upon exiting the tent. Sam, who is beaming at him. He’s been doing that a lot, which he put down to a younger brother’s happiness that his older sibling is finally… also happy, he supposes, a concept that baffles Castiel for his potential part in it. But then he catches something in Sam’s scent and he realizes it isn’t at all about them.

“Sam!” he exclaims, heart lifting with the emotions.

“Hmm? What? Morning, Cas,” Sam smiles.

He squints at him, amused. “Did you need anything?”

“I don’t think so. Though… Did you give what Crowley said any thought?”

It doesn’t take much to catch on. “About Amara?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird for her to be out here on her own?”

“She’s the de facto leader of Elysium, so yes, it’s very odd for her to be on Tribal lands alone. And to answer your question, I have no idea why she would do so. It’s reckless and brazen and it lines up with no tactics I’ve heard of.”

“Is she looking for something? Or someone?”

“She did say Lucifer likes to roam and she’s been trying to curb that.”

“In which case, I hope she finds him,” Sam sighs. “Though it’s strange for her to do so. Why no soldiers? No back-up?”

“I believe she’s quite powerful.”

In that, he has utter faith in her and he hopes that it might be a correct assessment. Sam hums, doubt oozing off his tone.

He nudges his shoulder into Sam. “Was there something else… you want to… say?”

He lets his voice lilt higher near the end, amused at Sam’s general distraction. His head is in the clouds and no wonder, if what he’s picking up is correct.

“Uhh, maybe.”

Sam makes a face, something between a smile and a surprised frown, which lands on helplessly flustered. His face brightens up and in that moment, Castiel spots the resemblance with Dean. When they smile, they light up the space around them.

“Wait… Cas, you’re picking up on it? Already?”

He chuckles, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, taking him in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’ll keep my mouth shut, if you want me to.”

“Maybe that’s why I wandered over… To tell you and Dean. It won’t matter much. Soon everyone will catch it.”

He wraps his arms around Sam, laughing. “New life, Sam,” he mumbles, surprised by what that realization does to him.

Dean sneaks up on them, a warm hand on Castiel's neck, and they move around each other so smoothly, when Castiel makes room so the brothers can hug. He can’t tell what Dean whispers to Sam, but the happiness that swirls warmly through their bond drags him along for the ride anyway. He heads towards the den to arrange the preparation of a feast tonight.

They might as well celebrate, while waiting for Crowley.

Outside a storm roars and thunders, while they’re packed closely together in the Campbell den. Candles are scattered across the table, fires burning in two opposite corners. A thin layer of fog is floating against the ceiling, which is a mix of the fire smoke, the food and them.

Theirs is a gloriously chaotic table, Dean thinks. He’s sitting at one of the corners, because there’s way too many of them and he has no intention of forcing the likes of Jack, Eileen or Karen into an uncomfortable position. Besides, this way he’s closer to Cas, who’s at one end of the table. His leg is bent at the knee, his foot shoved under Cas’ thigh for warmth and contact. Which his mate blessedly allows and Dean’s not sure what he prefers. The sex they had in the woods or these easy-going touches, as if they’re the most natural part of life. Both. Preferably both.

To his other side sits Jack, who is leaning into him. Perhaps he’s similar to Dean in his need for contact. The thought of a tactile pack pleases him immensely.

“Hey, Jack,” he mutters around a mouthful of fresh stag.

Jack turns gentle eyes on him, tilting his head in much the same way Cas does.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, kid, that first time around.”

Pale eyebrows knit together at the words and he isn’t sure it registers, but the kid sits even closer, connecting them from hip to shoulder, so he guesses they’re as okay as two perfect strangers can be. There’s something almost strangely familiar about Jack, the way his face works through emotions the boy can’t even voice. Suddenly Claire pops up between his legs. She climbs into his lap and snatches food off his plate, the way she’s been doing to several of them all night. Patience is passed out in Kevin’s arms, while Kaia is glued to Meg. Claire rubs her cheek to his, then Cas’ and runs right back off.

“Charmed, as usual!” he calls after her under the table.

When he reappears, he senses Castiel’s warm gaze and locks eyes with him. There’s a calm that’s come over Cas recently, which intensifies whenever they’re sitting packed closely together and it almost feels like life is normal. On a wink and a grin, he puts more food in his mouth, licking his fingers clean one by one. The gas-like flames in his eyes flicker to life, but there’s a disturbingly high level of amusement in his body language, when he props his cheek up on his knuckles.

“Pup,” he says, low and fond, “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

“Complaints about that?”

“I feel I should have them…”

Dean snorts gently. “As if anyone’s paying decent attention.”

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Charlie grins across from him. “But please, do continue.”

Next to her, Sam’s bitchface comes into full effect. “Or you know, don’t.”

He is all but draped over Eileen, who’s visibly melting into the coziness that’s gathering around her. Dean’s never been in such close quarters with this many Omegas in his life and he’s quite certain he can get used to it. None of them are wearing blockers, though he thinks his father and grandfather are, which results in a whole lot of nesting pheromones being released into the air. Benny’s lot consists primarily of Betas, who intermingle easily, despite their size and cloaks. They’re as stubborn in wearing those as Cas is in his attachment to his trench.

He isn’t sure whether it’s the booze or the pheromones, but after dessert - a large amount of pies and pastries - he gets an idea.

A strange idea.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas’ gestures are slower, smoother than normal as his head pivots on his neck towards him, angling his nose into his neck without so much as a second thought and Dean inhales sharply on a laugh, nudging his cheek into Cas’ when his eyes fall shut. Sure, that’s an idea too.

Focus, Winchester.

He forces the words out. “My voice is back to normal, I think.”

Mmh, bad choice, he thinks, when Cas freezes and abandons his endeavor to swamp his vision. “And?” he asks, voice unsure.

“How would you feel if I tried to heal with it?”

Cas’ lips part on a curious ‘o’ and his eyes skitter upwards, while he lets the question sink in. His brow starts doing things, which are all very adorable, until they shoot up and he settles his gaze on Jack. “You want to try and heal him.”

“It can’t hurt to try, right? I have no idea how this works, but… who knows?”

“I’m not sure, Dean,” he says, waving a hand to emphasize the uncertainty. “Usually our voices serve to affect moods and behavior, not… states of being.”

“But everything we are stems from our brain. Our moods, our gender, our identification… Sure, we learn a shitload while we grow up, but how we are in our mind determines how we identify more than our bodies. So if voice can affect that, perhaps.. with any luck, it can also affect this.”

“Jack?” Cas asks.

The boy’s been listening to them, but how much he understands is another matter.

“Jack, you heard what Dean said. Would it be alright if he tries to heal you?”

Jack’s lips purse lightly. He scoots closer to Dean, expression open and… well, trusting, which implies consciousness, but there’s a hint of it. That’s it though. No nod, no sound. When he looks to Cas to make sure, he nods once and Dean turns to Jack bodily. He moves his legs so they’re on either side of the bench, Jack between them.

Excellent, strange idea. Now that he’s here, he’s not sure how to go about it.

It usually works when he’s angry, but that emotion won’t fly for his current mission. He becomes aware of a pleasant, tingly warmth at the base of his spine, which languidly travels up until it’s taken up residence under his sternum. It takes him a few heartbeats, but he realizes it’s Cas, extending his trust to him with crystal-clear intent.

Strengthened by that, he rolls his shoulders and Dean exhales slowly, as he brings up his hands to Jack’s face. He places his fingers even-spaced to his skin from his forehead to his temples to his jawline. Jack’s calm under his touch, which to be fair, he didn’t expect.

He digs up memories. The ones that involve the world order how he’d like to see it: nesting with Sam, taking care of Baby when she was a foal, helping care for the cubs younger than him, and using his strength to protect rather than dominate. He leans in, pressing his cheek to Jack’s. Both of them. Jack blinks at him, his cheeks warmer, and smiles. So ridiculously young, when he smiles, Dean thinks.

He hears Cas’ sharp inhale and shivers when a familiar, warm hand lands on his lower back. He scoots into the touch, drawing whatever support from it Cas has to offer. For the first time in his life, his voice is used on a whisper and not a bark.

“ **Heal your mind, Jack. Come back to us. To Cas.** ”

He lets go of Jack instantly and realizes everyone in their immediate vicinity is witnessing them. With a soft grumble, he relaxes muscles he wasn’t aware were tense, wiping a hand over his mouth. He pulls his leg back under the table, leaning into Cas. Jack casts a curious glance around, triggering most of them back into normal behavior, before he focuses his attention on his food. Unsure, Dean rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the longer strands in the front and casts a glance at Cas through his lashes.

“Sorry, Cas.”

Cas is looking at Jack, but he entwines his fingers with Dean’s. “Hmm, don’t.”

“It doesn’t look like it worked.”

“This might be different… An order to obedience or submission is instant. This… it might take time.” He squeezes down on Dean’s hand. “Thank you, Dean, for trying.”

His heart all but stops when Cas lands a sweet kiss to his lips. That’s a first in their current company. His Alpha howls at the public display of affection, wanting their pack to know, even though he’s aware they’re aware. How can anyone not be?

Still, he wants to glower at Charlie, who’s almost bodily vibrating out of her skin with enthusiasm, but when he catches the subtle sour undertones at her own loss, he stretches out his legs so he can entwine them with hers. She smiles at him gratefully, the sad touch to her eyes softening.

They’re at ease for the first time in a long time. Not just him, but the Nomads too and he doesn’t think he’s seen his father or grandfather like this in his lifetime. They’re taking in their company with a generous dose of scrutiny, as if they’re trying to wrap their head around it, but even they can’t ignore the scents on the air or their effects.

The eve babbles on like a singing brook of water and he loves it.

While the night grows darker, they slowly disperse and he tries to keep track of who goes to sleep where for the night.

“Dean?”

He looks up from the woodcarving. Charlie. She smiles and sits next to him, pulling her feet up on the rock, wrapping her arms around her knees. For a moment, she turns her face to the warm afternoon sun, sitting quietly beside him. Everything still smells like the thunderstorm from last night. She rests her chin on her arms, dark eyes warm. 

“Is that for the new cub?”

Holding up the little wooden wolf, he grins. “It’s not quite done yet, but I figured I’d get a head start.”

“Mmmh, you two are too fluffy for your own good,” she huffs.

“Pardon?”

“You and Cas. Ever since,” she gestures wildly, her eyes going wide, “You know…”

“No, Charles,” he smirks, “I don’t know. What?”

“Ever since you two got it on, you’ve been… all kinds of weirdly sweet. I mean, we know Cas is a big softie at heart, but holy shit, if you two don’t bring it out in each other. Last night was… hard to describe. I’d say it’s sickening if you didn’t both need it so much.”

He makes to protest, but decides against it, because… “Fuck it, you’re right.”

“We all do.”

He gets back to work on the little wolf. “How do you mean?”

“We’ve never had an Alpha, Dean. We didn’t want one.”

He mulls over what he knows about Cas. They did have an Alpha. They just didn’t realize it. And in some ironic twist of fate, they took to Cas easily, so biology isn’t fully off the table, no matter how hard they try. Which is why he treads lightly.

“You don’t need one either.”

She hums. “Yes and no. All of us left for similar reasons, but we like certain Alphas.”

“Certain Alphas, huh? Like those with dark hair and red lips?”

“Oh, I like her very much,” Charlie whispers on a soft laugh. “And I miss her.”

“We’ll reunite you.”

She blinks hard against the tears, gratitude spiking through her scent, sweetening the air around them. “I know you will. Yes… good Alphas, soft Alphas like you and her.”

He angles his shoulders, highly amused. “Soft Alphas?”

“Don’t go all Alpha on me, because you know damn well what I mean.”

“I do. I’m good with it. It’s probably a good moniker to coin.”

“Cas must love it.”

Dean flusters to the roots of his hair and nudges his shoulder into her. “Shut up.”

“Hah! I win. I knew you were the cooperative one of the two,” she grins.

He thinks she means something else entirely than ‘cooperative’, but deems it wiser not to call her out on that.

“You win?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at her.

She presses her lips together, her hands shooting out in a ‘I can explain’ gesture. “We may have had a… tiny bet going on.”

He snorts, while he shakes his head. Of course they did. “On what exactly? My decency?”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure that was lost years ago. If anyone’s decency hangs in the balance, it’s Cas’.”

It costs a lot of effort to school his features, but he hears her inhale and giggle either way.

“Or not…”

“Is there anything in particular you wanted, Charles, or are you just here to needle me about my mate?”

Ah, shit, the words make him smile, his Alpha trotting in happy, smug, proud circles and it bleeds into his scent.

Charlie squees, pressing her fingers to her cheeks and, though he tries to inch out of reach, throws her arms around him.

“I can’t with this,” she smiles into his neck, marking him.

“Gee, don’t hold back with the marking.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, blushing. “It’s just… so intensely soothing, your bond, when you’re aligned like this. I mean, it was tasty before, but it’s even better now.”

He’s quick to chase her with a hand, subtly returning the mark to her neck. The urge to wrap himself around every member of the pack grows every day. To keep them all safe and happy.

“A fucking walking buffet apparently,” he mumbles fondly. “Focus, sweetheart.”

“I… Yes! Yes, okay. So I’m sorry to bring it up… cause everyone is finally calming down. Even Jack seems better, though he’s still being all cute and quiet. He eats a lot of sweets, did you notice?”

“I have,” he nods. Charlie’s scent sweetens like fresh-baked pastry, because apparently he did _another_ cute thing. “What’s on your mind?”

“Meg. I haven’t seen her since last night.”

“She went for a walk after the dinner,” he says, and when he recalls, he becomes aware that he hasn’t seen her since.

She did not isolate herself fully, but she never sank into the pack either, though whether that’s down to the Nomads or to her, he isn’t sure. His chest constricts with guilt immediately. He’s been too caught up in the alliance with Crowley. Cas. And the perceived comfort of their pack. This strange reprieve, which he should have known was temporary.

His instincts flare up immediately.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“We gotta call everyone together. Find her. Fuck.”

Charlie’s eyes widen and she fidgets. “You think… they took her?”

“Or she sold us out. Either way, Crowley’s due to arrive along the night.”

Charlie’s groan is heartfelt, echoing his own feelings on having to forego his four hours. He doesn’t sleep much overall, but ever since he gets to sleep with Cas, not sleeping has become a nuisance. It’s like he wants to catch up on a lifetime of it.

He tucks the wolf inside his leathers, near his heart, and the knife in his boot.

“Let’s see if we can find her before he arrives.”

Castiel shifts back to his human form, stumbling a bit when he does. He’s been searching the woods alongside Dean and Gadreel the past few hours, the three of them in wolf form, running a perimeter. They caught Meg’s scent twice, but isolated. Abruptly cut off. It’s nearing midnight. Crowley will arrive soon. Unless any of the others found her, Meg is missing, which has him frantically counting heads as he sees everyone appear from the darkness. Never mind that he can’t remember the names of any of the Vikings among them, besides Benny. He simply counts and recounts, wondering how in the hell they managed to gather such a large group.

Carrying torches, Deanna, Jack and Lee meet them with the cubs, when they all converge in front of the willow tree. All it takes is eye contact bouncing between them to confirm that none of them had any luck finding Meg.

It’s unnervingly silent for a few heartbeats. He’s thankful they’re all wearing blockers, which somehow in the last days most of them forewent. As if they were truly safe.

“We need to meet up with Crowley,” he says. “We need to know if he…”

Claire wraps an arm around his thigh, pressing her face into the muscle.

“I don’t think it’s him,” Charlie mutters, her face pale. “Unless anyone else thought he was faking it when he got angry, I really don’t think it’s him.”

“I don’t care who it is at this point,” John snarls. “I want to know why… Why come all the way out here to snatch her?”

“Scare tactics,” Benny offers, a tinge of cynical amusement to his voice. “There is a time and place for it.”

Kevin lets out a shaky breath. “Unless it’s… nothing of this world.”

“Alright, hold your tongue right there,” Charlie says. She hooks her arm through his, interlacing their fingers. “No one needs your horror stories at this time of night under these circumstances.”

Dean clears his throat, as he puts a hand on the back of Kevin’s neck. “We’ll find her.”

“How do you know?” Kevin asks, leaning into the touch.

He sidesteps Kevin, sliding his hand to his shoulder while he bends over a bit, making sure he has Kevin’s attention. Castiel smiles helplessly at the emotions that flicker across his features, reassuring and confident.

“It’s what I do. I find people and save them. Whatever it takes. Didn’t know you’d grown attached to our favorite caustic Tribal though.”

Kevin grimaces through a reluctant smile. “Kaia likes her. Kinda like Cas grew on you, I guess.”

Dean ruffles his hair with a low chuckle. “Cas is right though. We need to meet up with Crowley. Talk first. We can always rip his throat out later.”

“Now we’re talking,” Samuel smiles.

“I want most of you to stay here,” Cas says, addressing the Nomads present. “At the den. There’s shelter and strength in numbers.”

Dean picks up on his sentiment effortlessly and nods. “Agreed. That means you,” he gestures at his grandparents, “are staying put.”

“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” Samuel says, planting his feet wide.

Dean grins at his grandmother’s eye roll. Castiel laughs heartily when she winks at him knowingly.

“I get it from her. You two gotta stay with them, granddad. We can’t take our pack out in the open, if… They’ve been there enough. Too often.”

Samuel’s expression ripples in the flickering flame light and his gaze tracks the Nomads. Castiel meets his eyes and wonders if perhaps Samuel sees them as something else than a ratty pack of wanderers, bringing chaos to his den, dragging his son and grandsons with them.

“Didn’t you say it was time?” he says softly to Deanna.

“I did, darling,” she smiles. She rests a hand on his lower arm, patting him affectionately.

“You’re not side-lining me,” John says, visibly bristling. “I created this mess…”

“Yep. Partly anyway,” Dean nods, gesturing in reassurance at his father, “So you’ll get to clean it up. Until we have Mom back, you’re in the running. Any news from her?”

“Crowley said he had some. Bastard wanted to do it ‘in person’.”

“Of course… Benny?”

“I’ll split my group evenly. Leave five, take five.”

“Cas?”

“I…” His gaze drops to Claire, her blue eyes wide. “Yes, I need to join.”

“Then so do I,” Gadreel says.

“Dree,” Castiel shakes his head. He looks to Lee meaningfully. “Stay together.”

Gadreel splutters, but flusters adorably, when Lee slides a hand under his shirt to the small of his back. “I’ve got him, Castiel, no worries.”

He can’t believe how relieved that makes him feel.

“Sam, Eileen, you comin’?”

“Nah, man, you two got this,” Sam says, gesturing his hands in refusal.

_“We’re staying put,”_ Eileen signs with so much zeal she shakes.

“Same for us,” Karen says. “Bobby’s still recovering from the caves.”

“I am not,” Bobby grunts.

“But you’re staying either way?” Dean smiles.

There’s some more grumbling, which he assumes is affirmative.

“You lot heard Cas,” Dean says, audibly emphasizing who gave the order. “Stay here and keep each other safe.”

His stomach is upset.

“All of you, go inside. No wandering, you hear me?” Castiel doesn’t know who to look to first: Claire, Charlie or Gadreel, but he thinks the message lands. He hopes. With a sigh, he presses his lips together in a tight line, rising to his full length. Dean mirrors him, almost imperceptible in its instinctiveness.

Castiel wants to drag him to their tent.

“Let’s go.”

“You didn’t mention having your own army in tow!” John snarls.

“I’d hardly call eight shifters an army! You brought more of those bloody furballs!”

Dean takes in those eight shifters. Only two faces are familiar: Bela and Abaddon.

Then he catches a whiff of… _Morrigan take them._ He curses vehemently when he smells them before they come stumbling into the clearing, turning on his heels.

“Crowley, don’t get worked up over this,” Dean starts.

“Charlie!” Castiel snaps at her. “How dare y…”

“I only followed him!” she says quickly, gesturing at Gadreel behind her.

He looks a lot less guilty, sword in hand. Dean wants to roll his eyes, but it isn’t remotely funny, when half of Crowley’s shifters bend through their knees, going in attack position, Bela and Abaddon up front.

“Who are they?!”

“Calm the hell down, all of you!” Dean barks.

He plants himself between both groups, arms out, wondering how in the seven levels of hell they’re ever going to get any of these paranoid muts to work together for longer than their attention span not to chase their own tail.

Abaddon sneers at him through blood red lips. “What’s an Alpha doing with this mudmonkey lot?”

“Carving that word in your spleen if you don’t back off! Crowley, you were supposed to bring supporters, not knotheads!”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Crowley hisses. “You need help. This is part of it. None of them are particularly loyal to Azazel.”

“But they’re loyal to you?”

“They’re loyal to a cause, which in this case means you’re on the same side and that is about the best bet you have.”

“What happens when all of this is over?” Charlie asks. “You’ll go back to trying to dominate us?”

Dean’s completely taken with her courage. Or lack of self-preservation. A Hunter through and through, he thinks.

“I don’t know, darling,” Bela smiles. “You smell taken.”

“Taken or not, I’m off limits!”

“Fucking hellfire,” John mutters. “I wonder if Bobby wasn’t right all along.”

Crowley waves a hand at Bela and Abaddon. “Settle the bloody hell down. We really are on the same side. We don’t have to like each other to be sensible about it.”

“Oh, I think I like quite a few of them,” Abaddon sneers. “In a particular way.”

“Try us.” Cas steps forward, towering over her as he rises to his full length and, fuck, Dean thinks he might go hard at the sight alone, then even more so because he’s allowed to.

A twinge of amusement makes it through Cas’ scent and Dean bites back a moan, when that eyebrow ticks up subtly. He forces himself to focus.

“Can we get our packs aligned?” Dean says. “It’s the fucking middle of the night and I’d like to get some sleep in before we go to battle.”

“Need your beauty rest?”

“Bite me, Crowley. I dare you.”

Whelp, poor choice of words, clearly. 

He winces when he feels the covetous response from Cas, though there’s an almost immediate surge of pleasure on its tail, because yeah, sure, he doesn’t mind that side of Cas. At all. Their eyes meet in the limited light and Castiel’s glitter dangerously. Dean brazenly winks at him and an idea blossoms in his head.

They’re on a schedule. But maybe there’s time between this war meeting and the day ahead. You know, the day needed to prepare and align, and get some ‘sleep’.

If he can entice Cas sufficiently.

Priorities.

“First off, how is our Mom and Dorothy? The Hunter pack?”

“Alive and kicking,” Crowley says on a dismissive wave of his hand. “But kept close. Azazel’s using her and Dorothy as a shield and insurance, wherever he goes. Most of the time he’s at The Bunker or close to it, delegating maintenance of the lands to his minions.”

“Don’t sneer,” John says. “We’ve all done the same, some more than others. When’s the last time you actually saw her?”

“Me myself? Not at all, but my minions,” he smirks, “were told to keep an eye out. Last confirmed sighting, she was in good health three days ago.”

Dean and Sam exchange relieved looks with John.

It takes them three hours to talk through numbers and tactics and by the end of that he’s feeling hopeful about their odds for the first time, even with the likes of Bela and Abaddon in their ranks. Or perhaps because of them, because they’re terrifying. Crowley brought in the numbers they need to focus an attack on The Bunker and the checkpoints Azazel set up on the edges of the forest. Which also means Crowley is returning to his den after this meeting for his own preparations.

The only downside is they have no idea how and where Elysium is involved. They have not been seen on Tribal lands since the Gathering, so there’s no way to focus an attack on them or defend against their invisible presence.

They watch Crowley and his goons leave. A few more hours and the sun’s coming up.

Dean senses his father’s mood, ebbing and flowing like the ocean, and he walks up to him. Sentences form in his head, but none of them seem to hit the right mark to address John Winchester. He can’t ask him if he’s alright. Reassuring his own father seems pointless.

“You feel that in your gut?” John asks.

Yes and no. Dean doubts what he’s feeling right now is what John’s referring to, but he has an inkling what he means.

“You mean that eve of battle feeling?”

John’s dark eyes find his and they look infinitely sad. “That feeling, yes, though it’s nothing like the stories you and Sam were so fond of as cubs. It’s what we tried to avoid. This pit in your gut, where you can feel the line between before and after, being carved in your very skin. Your soul, by the time we’re through with this, make no mistake.”

He can’t truly fathom it. John fought through the war and for all the stories he and Sam ‘were so fond of’, they’re still that. Stories. Cas carries himself in a similar way, like he’s always on the outside looking in. With what he’s learned about him lately, it makes sense. Some experiences can never be understood, regardless of the levels of empathy at one’s disposal. As for history… His memories of the war are vague, child-like, but the past five years have given him enough of an inkling to maybe sidle up to what his father is trying to say.

“I’m going to take a wild guess here,” Dean says and he tugs one corner of his mouth up when his father’s eyebrow cocks up. “And say that you also felt you had no choice anymore back then? That it was the only route left to take to give those you love the best odds at a better world.”

John grimaces and suddenly his warm hand lands in Dean’s neck. He’s never been one for touching, so it takes Dean by surprise for more than one reason. “Back then we charged in. Now we tried to work around it.”

“Exactly. And the thing is I don’t feel like we don’t have a choice. My choice is made… because any other choice provides me with an outcome I can’t live with anymore.”

“I am glad to hear you consider it a choice. Let’s hope you won’t come to regret it.”

“Like you?”

“No,” John says, narrowing his eyes. “No regrets. Just lessons learned and an urge to sidestep..”

“I don’t think… Sometimes I wonder if we even could have avoided it, because it feels like we still don’t know every player on the map.”

“We don’t,” John agrees. “So eyes open, son, nose to the air.”

For the first time in his life, Dean senses genuine trust bestowed upon him. His chest expands warmly, though he’s terrified at the same time.

John claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s head back.”

“Cas and I will catch up.”

No point being coy about that.

John laughs and there’s a brief moment where he ruffles a hand through his hair, like he’s a teen all over again. He dodges it, batting his hand away. “Hey! Come on, Dad.”

With more hearty chuckles, John shakes his head and walks off. “Don’t stay behind too long. Beauty sleeps and all.”

“Only four hours.”

Dean lingers, knowing already that he won’t need to verbally ask Cas to do the same. They watch the others disappear into the forest. Charlie’s pale face turns back to look at them.

“I swear I can smell her smugness from here,” he mutters.

Cas chuckles, while he casually wanders closer. “She’s not the only one, but she is the least subtle about it.”

Speaking of subtle… Dean’s been slowly but surely wiping his neck and wrists clean, since their alliance talk broke apart. He licks his lips, caught up in staring at the now abandoned tree line, as he runs his palm over his neck again. When he sneaks a look at Cas, he finds his attention already on him and his insides feel infinitely hotter.

Cas rubs his fingers together, bringing them to his lips, and hellfire, he remembers when they were in his mouth, coated in slick, the scent translating on his tongue like ambrosia. He scents the air and his face splits in a feral smile when he picks up the first hints of that same fragrance.

“Cas,” he says, putting as much of his intentions into the one word.

A low rumble rises deep in Cas’ chest. “Yes.”

He rubs his wrists to his neck, pleased to find his core temperature is making him sweat, releasing more of him on the air. “We… We don’t have a lot of time.”

_And we might not get the chance after._

Cas snarls when that sordid sentiment sours Dean’s scent and steps up, cupping his face to claim his mouth. He locks their lips together, briefly letting go of him to shake off his trench. Frustrated that he has to fully break their kiss to actually lay it out on the grass, he all but manhandles Dean down on it until he’s hovering over him. He lands on his back, the air knocked out of him, his heart hammering wildly, as he unfurls for Cas.

His sapphire eyes are blue-flamed infernos, laced with need, want, a similar fear and a stubborn conviction that shreds Dean’s distress to pieces. He whines at Cas in a reassuring apology while he pulls him into a kiss. He puts his hands to good use. The first time they were largely clothed. He intends to change that, if Cas is willing.

He undoes the laces on his shirt far enough to pull it part ways down Cas’ shoulder and kisses the scarred skin, biting down where his neck and shoulder meet. Cas groans hotly in the pocket of air between them, his hands deftly undoing Dean’s belt buckle. He’s glad he wore his loose leathers and not the leather armor, because Cas is rucking it up and over so fast, all he can do is accommodate, wiggling and squirming, undoubtedly providing quite the view for Cas.

“Mmmh, beautiful Alpha,” Cas mumbles, tossing his leathers aside.

The timbre of his voice is enough for Dean to tremble. Cas’ hands drop to the front of Dean’s pants, causing his breath to hitch and there’s a lull of quiet, when they lock eyes. Dean’s breath comes ragged and he whines softly into the silence, his need reaching for Cas across the distance.

“So beautiful,” he repeats.

Dean slides his fingers under his shirt, drawing circles over his hip bones, before letting them travel up. Slowly. Ensuring he has Cas’ attention all the way, as he caresses his abdomen and ribs, the fabric bunching up with every inch he moves, until it dawns on him and something vulnerable flickers in Cas’ eyes. A swirl of hesitation acts up in his fragrance, sweet like honeyed apples, shy almost.

“You’re safe, Cas,” he whispers. “You’re…”

He wants to say ‘perfect’, because it’s true, knowing the sentiment is already on his musky scent, because Cas huffs gently. For a moment he fears he’ll refuse, but then he sits up and moves with Dean’s insistent hands, until his shirt is gone, revealing himself to Dean once more. Not in a haze, like the first time, but knowingly.

Endless strength.

Cas is endless strength. That’s what he sees beyond the scars and skin. A strength that fans out from his core like wings that surely carry him to his destiny. He wants to think they carried him to Dean, but he’s not sure. Cas is more than his mate, his Alpha. So much more to so many people. His heart quivers while he reaches out and puts his hands on Cas’ abdomen. He smiles when Cas’ muscles tremble under his touch, his breath coming out harsher when his eyes darken. His large hands land on Dean’s hips.

Wide, strong shoulders. Endless gloriously tanned skin, dappled with scars. Dean experiences a similar pain to the first time he saw them in Cas’ tent at the Gathering. He still wants to bury his sword down the throat of the one who did this to Cas and Morrigan willing, he’ll one day get the chance.

With a curious tilt of his head, Cas chuckles darkly and presses down on Dean’s dick, before dipping his fingers under his waistband and tugging. He nods fervently, digging his heels in the trench to lift his ass and moans when his dick springs free, and suddenly he’s blissfully naked. He protests when Cas doesn’t do the same, but only briefly, because Cas bends over him. Soon he fills his view entirely, barring the dappled stars he can still see over his shoulder.

His eyes fall shut, when Cas’ lips claim his, and he works his jaw open, sucking his tongue into Cas’ mouth. He lets his legs fall wide, surrendering to the comforting heat. Cas licks into his mouth, pressing them together through the soft leather of his pants. The feel of miles of warm skin on his sends his head spinning and he wraps around Cas perfectly, rolling his hips. His fingertips catch delicately on Cas’ sweaty back, trailing over his spine all the way to his ass. He massages his ass cheeks, pulling them wider and Cas whimpers into his neck, bucking into him. The scent of slick hangs heavy on the air, clinging to the roof of his mouth.

His vision flashes red and he pants fast into the kiss, their lips sticking together. “Oh, hellfire, Cas, you’re…”

A low rumble that toes the line between annoyed and aroused emanates from Cas’ chest. Dean can’t help the smile that forms and he runs his tongue along his teeth, holding Cas’ gaze, while he pushes his fingers past the tight waistband. “May I?”

Cas is torn, his eyes stormy, but wanton. Dean teases him through the front of his pants, loosening up the laces, and he nips at Cas’ lips, rolling the lower one between his teeth. He increases the pressure until Cas growls and releases him, licking a sweet apology over the darkened patch of skin.

“Mmh, Dean,” Cas moans, when Dean slips his hands below the waistband, stroking him. “Yes. Yes.”

“Was that a yes to my question?”

“Fuck,” Cas snarls. “Pup, yes, touch… Dean…”

He grinds his teeth together, cutting off what likely would have been a plea and Dean kisses him sweetly to soothe him. They have a ways to go. Dean obliges quickly, wanting to keep Cas here, smoothly sliding his hands from the front to the back, pushing Cas’ pants down so his ass and dick are bare. The scent of slick gets more intense and he grabs Cas’ ass cheeks, pulling them apart slightly, dipping his finger in to find Cas’ hole utterly drenched. A shiver wracks through Dean at the feel of Cas' slick, coating his fingers. Cas trembles, kissing him rougher, when Dean dips two fingers in, but he’s reduced to panting into Dean’s mouth the next moment, when he slides them in and out a few times in rapid succession. Cas grinds down on him urgently.

“I wanna taste you,” Dean mutters. “Alpha…”

He gets a flash of a wicked grin for that, Cas’ cheeks heating up pleasantly, and darkened eyes find his in the moonlight. “Suck it off your fingers, pup.”

Moaning, he fingers him, slow and languid. Cas writhes into the touch, sliding their dicks together, his forehead pressed to Dean’s temple. Through their scent-bond, Dean can tell he’s persistently on the fence, wanting to give in entirely one heartbeat and contemplating running the next. He coats his fingers amply and pulls out, intent on drawing Cas’ attention away from the duality. Small steps at a time.

Holding Cas’ eyes, swirling red and gold, he parts his lips and rests his fingers on his protruding tongue, before slowly circling each digit so Cas can see what it does to him. His own vision flashes fully red and he knows his pupils are blown wide. He grins around his fingers, teeth grazing the skin, and Cas’ appreciative rumbling soothes any anxiety that was there. When Cas’ slick floods his system, his hips move of their own accord, his dick growing painfully hard.

He closes his lips around his fingers, hollowing his cheeks out. Some of Cas’ resolve seems to snap and he licks across Dean’s fingers and lips. He bites down on Dean’s knuckles, alternating them with sweet licks.

“Ohh, fuck me." Dean drags out the last word, grabbing the back of Cas’ hair.

Cas’ voice is low, wrecked, pulling at his core, breath so hot, Dean’s burning up. “Present for me, Dean.”

He almost comes then and there.

Scrambling under Cas’ hard, lean body, he moves to acquiesce. He remembers his last rut, rolling onto his stomach in the cabin, already lost on Cas. So maybe someone does get to do this to him, Dean muses, while he turns around and presents to Cas on trembling limbs. Not just as a secret or a fling. Not somewhere far away from his homelands. On Tribal soil. With his mate. His face flushes warm with anticipation and the heady scent on the moment, well aware how into this wayward side of the coin he is. And perhaps it’s not as wayward as tradition has him believe...

Cas places a warm hand to his flank, anchoring him. He nips at Dean’s shoulder, his warm body pressed to his back, and he can feel his heart pounding away. He rocks forward on his elbows the moment Cas’ slick fingers circle his hole and back the moment they slip inside, fucking down on the digit.

“Hmm, patience, pup,” Cas chuckles, which is rich, because Dean can smell Cas’ impatience.

He conveys as much to Cas on a smug laugh and gets added fingers for his efforts, scissoring him blissfully.

“You’re as eager as I am,” he moans. “Come on, Cas, show me what you can do to me… Make me feel you for days.”

Yeah, that works… He laughs through a hitched moan, when Cas tugs him closer by the hips, pushing his knees where he wants them. He arches his back, looking over his shoulder to find Cas stroking himself with his own slick, which is too hot for words, his mouth goes dry. Instantly falls slack, when Cas places his tip at his hole and finds his eyes, a wordless question obvious.

Dean winks at him over a crooked smile, but the bluster is lost when, between one heartbeat and the next, he rocks his hips back on a keening sound, whispering Cas’ name helplessly, until Cas pushes inside. He loses his voice, eyes squeezed shut, and relishes the delicious burning sensation of Cas sinking into him. When Cas finally bottoms out, his balls nestled against his ass, Dean lets rip a pleased sound that settles into a deep, rumbling purr.

A matching sound picks up in Cas, when he starts to move, pulling out until his head catches on Dean’s rim. He teases him, tugging but never fully pulling out, before he fucks into him, just a touch faster. Leaning over, his breath falls hot in Dean’s neck, while his arms slide up under Dean’s arms, so Cas can entwine their fingers. Everything is pulled taut, both of them trembling under the delightful, hot strain while they find a smooth, heated rhythm, slowly but surely taking Dean apart. Cas groans into the back of his neck and the sound of teeth snapping lights a fire around his heart. When Cas kisses and bites down near his mating gland, Dean’s vision whites out with need.

Yes. Oh, please, yes, he thinks, and suddenly it’s all he can think of.

He dips his head back, opening up to Cas further, breathing their scent in and holding it so long, his lungs burn. Cas picks up on his desperation and, rumbling soothingly, slams into him harder, a stutter to his hips that suggests he’s equally affected. Dean begins to ramble, words spilling off his lips on hot breaths.

“ _Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan_ …”

Cas grinds into him, hard and rough, fingers curled around his throat as he presses his impressive form flush to him, a violent surge of possessiveness like charred, peaty wood spiking through his scent. He nips at the back of his neck, pulling all the way out and shoving back in at an unforgiving pace. Dean’s pushed down on the trench, his arms failing to keep him up and their entwined hands twist into the grass.

He shivers when Cas’ voice rumbles low and menacing next to his ear, sucking the shell into his warm mouth. “Stop chanting some goddess’ name, pup. You’re _mine.”_

“Oh, fuuuuuck… Yes…”

He keens in response and arches his back, blinking hard to regain his vision, but failing when Cas nails his sweet spot. Cas is all around him, touch, scent, taste, burning into him to his very core and he wonders how he ever lived without him. He shoves his cheek into the fabric, unwinding, losing all sense of everything but them. Him.

“Alpha,” he pleads. “Cas. More… I want… more.” 

The last word is punched out of him along with his need, dragging a deep and heavy trail, connecting him to Cas, who is quickly becoming the fiery beacon his world is rearranging itself around. Words he never thought possible in this life make it past his lips on a hoarse, broken whisper. 

“My Alpha, mate me, please.”

Cas pulls out of him and he feels so empty, it wrenches a destitute whine from deep within.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Cas soothes him, as he tugs at him. “I’m here, my gorgeous pup.”

Dean catches on fast, goes pliant under those slender, strong hands until he’s on his back and Cas is sliding into him once more to the melody of both of them whimpering sweetly into each other’s mouth. Smoothly, easily, like Dean was made for him and only him. For a blessed moment, he watches Cas fuck into him, his hands on Dean’s thighs, his slick length vanishing into him on an intense burn over and over. 

In a beautiful, rare moment of surrender, Cas lets go of him, his hands sliding up his own chest to his neck, red-rimmed eyes glazed yet focused solely on Dean, as he slides in and out of him freely. His gaze is coated in gold. The chilly night air travels his skin, so he reaches out, putting his strength to work and pulls Cas in.

“Warmth,” he mutters. “Alpha, please… Mate me, mate me… _Cas.”_

“Dean, pup,” Cas growls.

“Now, Alpha-mine,” Dean pleads, baring his throat.

Whatever else he wants to add is obliterated when Cas seals his lips to his neck and sinks his fangs in. Cas’ arms wrap around him, strong and hard, hands clamping down on his thick shoulder muscles. Dean comes violently, his knot popping when he shoots between them, and the warm semen gets swept up as Cas pistons into him, biting down harder in his neck, growling deliciously, until his hips tremble and he’s about to go over the edge. Dean expects him to release his neck, but he doesn’t.

There’s the briefest moment of delightful anticipation, because although he knows it's coming, he still cries out hoarsely, when he feels the pressure of Cas’ knot expanding, stretching him, locking them together. He howls and clutches on to Cas, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling through their bond. He can’t tell which is whose, but it’s nothing but pure warmth, bliss, home and a deeply, intense sense of _mine_. Cas eases up on the mating bite, the skin all too sensitive, and then he licks the wound, holding Dean close, until they both come back to themselves, and each other.

When they do, they’re on their sides, Dean wrapped in Cas’ arms, the trench partly covering him. Cas’s nose is buried in his neck, his breath coming out on slow, pleased puffs. The rumble in his chest is equal parts content purring and moody rumbling. 

“Impatient pup. This is not how I imagined myself mating you.”

Dean scoots back a bit so he can look at him. “Really?”

Cas glowers at him, which is still impressive, but softer when Cas places a kiss to the corner of his mouth in the sweetest way. Dean huffs through a smile, chest heaving, while he curls his arms around him, his blood thrumming through every part of his body, sated, pleased, grounded. Mated. 

Dean can feel their heartbeats where they’re intimately connected. “Feels all kinds of perfect to me.”

He puts his hand in his neck, feeling for the bite and murrs at Cas when he nudges it away, only to replace it with the warm flat of his tongue. Rumbling affectionately he cleans up the blood that’s seeping out, every lap of his tongue sending an interesting, warm spark through him that nestles under his sternum.

The realization trickles in slower than anticipated, which he blames on the glow he’s basking in. “You imagined mating me?”

Cas chuckles against his neck and, moaning, he holds on tighter when Cas moves, his knot tugging at him. Dean is pretty sure they’re both scent-drunk, possibly mating-drunk. Castiel’s hold on him is… Dean searches for the word, but can’t find any. Peculiar. Exceptional. Regardless of what they are exactly, which roles they have, this moment cements it. Like scorched earth, fertile and ready to allow for growth and bloom. He cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, finding him relaxed under his touch. Present. Here.

“I have,” Cas admits with a smile.

Dean catches sight of his own blood on Cas’ lips and on a soft whimper licks some off.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about tradition, Cas,” he whispers. “I hope you realize that by now.”

Cas looks at him, eyes wide with genuine attentiveness, and they’re both sinking deeper and deeper into their bonded scent with every palpable heartbeat.

“You are who you are, Cas, and I’m yours, whichever way you want me. I’ll give you all I can as long as I can, you and your cubs. Our pack.”

“Dean…” Cas whines out his name and the kiss he bestows him is gentle. A cherishing gesture, holding Dean close. 

Simply holding him as he plants kiss after sweet, warm kiss, until Dean all but melts in his arms and Cas’ knot goes down.

He wants to fall asleep like this. Steal this night away.

But fate decides otherwise when the frantic howling reaches them. High-pitched. Desperate. Pained.

He knows what the melody means.

Ambushed.

Casualties.

“Claire.”

Cas’ expression, so calm a moment ago, shatters and broken sounds spill from his lips. Dean can feel him slipping through his fingers, their scent souring rapidly. They scramble to put their clothes back on and shift into their wolves almost at the same time, charging into the forest.


	26. The Beatings Will Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His nose twitches, when he realizes he isn’t alone. For a moment, he thinks… hopes it’s Cas, who returned, only to find Jack at the door. The kid lifts his right hand in greeting awkwardly.
> 
> “Hello.”
> 
> Hellfire, what?
> 
> “Jack? You’re… talking?”
> 
> He smiles at Dean, the first genuine smile he’s seen on his face since meeting him.

The smoke catches their attention first. Castiel is thankful for the storm last night. It soaked the forest and soil to its core, preventing the fire from catching dangerously. Still, everyone’s in disarray when they arrive at the den.

By everyone, he means the few he can see, which aren’t nearly enough to account for their whole pack.

“Jack! Claire! Dree!”

“Sam! Dad!”

“Dean!” John walks up to them, covered in soot, smoke wafting off his leathers. “We need to get the fire out!”

Dean vanishes into the burning den immediately and Castiel’s heart clenches at the sight. He ignores the order, rushing forward to find his cubs. Frantically, he scans the surroundings. There isn’t a prayer on his lips. No one’s listening. There’s nothing but the intense urge to find them. He scents the air to no avail, the smoke burning his nose and lungs.

“Cassie!”

It takes him too many heartbeats to locate Gadreel, face pale in the dark while he is peeking out from the other side of the den. He gestures wildly, the sour touch of Dree's fear and guilt reaching for him. Castiel runs up to him and bends down next to him. Tucked deep within the roots of the tree are two bodies.

No, three.

“It’s Deanna,” he mutters, seeing the grey hair, matted with blood.

They reach in and the woman groans when they start pulling her out. A small bundle drops from her lap with a wail.

“Patience,” Gadreel whispers as he catches the cub. “Are you alright?”

Castiel focuses on getting Deanna out without hurting her and sighs in relief when the body next to her moves. It’s Jack. Without missing a beat, Jack assists him and together they succeed. Jack immediately turns back to the cubbyhole they were hiding in.

“Jack?”

He points down into the dark and only now does Castiel notice the tear streaks on Jack’s face. When he makes to touch him, the boy shakes his head and frantically points again. He crawls in and finds Samuel’s unmoving body. Swallowing down hard, he knows there’s no point to checking his pulse. There’s too much blood and he can smell death. The bottom falls out of his stomach and his blood rushes through his veins.

“Oh, Dean,” he mutters. “I’m sorry…”

He grabs Samuel, surprised at the weight the man’s got on him, and drags him into the open. Patience whimpers from within the safety of Gadreel’s arms. He squats down next to Deanna, checking her for any wounds, besides the obvious head injury.

“Her leg is broken,” he says. “Dree, have you seen Claire?”

Gadreel shakes his head, arms squeezing down harder on Patience.

“They.. They took her,” Deanna whispers. Her gnarly fingers close around his wrist.

“Cas!”

“Dean!” he calls back. “We found your grandparents!”

Footsteps close in fast. Dean, John and Karen band together around them, Deanna now reaching out for John. A strangled sound escapes Dean at the sight of his grandparents. He falls to his knees next to Deanna, pulling Samuel into his arms.

“Grandma, what happened?”

“They came out of nowhere… Too fast. Dark. Strong. We didn’t see… We couldn’t.” She grimaces, reaching for her husband. “They smelled different. Like death.”

“What did they want?”

She shakes her head. “They didn’t speak. Overran us. Snatched them away. Sam first. Eileen. Claire. John?”

“I’m here, Deanna,” John says, providing better support.

“The den…?”

“We’ve got it under control. The rain…”

“… saved us.”

“We should have been here,” John says.

“Oh, spare me the damn pity party,” she croaks. “My mate is dead. My den is smoldering like a dying fire. Get me inside… Get everyone inside. Take stock.”

She pushes herself up, stubbornly forcing everyone to move with her, and they do. Cas helps Dean lift his grandfather between them. Benny carries Kate’s still form, Adam clutching on to her hand. Castiel doesn’t know either Tribal very well, having only met them when they came to the Campbell den, but his heart breaks at the pain in Adam’s eyes. He can’t be much older than Kevin.

And his thoughts scatter, when they lay Samuel down on the table.

He does the head count. Too few of them. Subdued. Confused.

On top of Kate and Samuel, they lost two of Benny’s pack and Becky’s friend that stumbled into the cave along with Jack. Suddenly the den is full of corpses and ghosts.

Because aside from Meg, they’re also missing Sam, Eileen, Kevin, Kaia, Lee, Bobby and Claire. There’s not a trace of the intruders. Except for one corpse, which they found alongside Benny’s dead pack members. It took the two of them to take it down. John’s lugging it inside, when Karen asks the obvious question.

“Any sign who they were? Anything?”

“Nondescript outfit,” John grunts, while he drops the corpse on the ground. It falls with a heavy thud, blood seeping from its neck wound. “Heavier for a shifter his size.”

“What the hell?” Charlie mutters. “He… Look at his hands.”

Dean bends through one knee, lifting the arm, his forehead marred by grief and deep unease. The hands are misshapen, the wolf claws permanently visible, even in death, like his human form can’t contain him. Castiel’s seen deformities like these. The cubs usually don’t live through childhood, let alone survive to adulthood.

“They are fast,” Deanna says from her seat at the head of the table. Her hand rests on Samuel’s chest.

Adam’s sitting close to Kate while he holds her hand. His voice is harsh, when he speaks. “Faster than normal. And they smell funny.”

“How did they get the drop on so many of us?” Benny asks. He’s as calm as ever, except for his eyes. Castiel can tell that much, by what little he has gleaned of the man.

Deanna scrunches up her nose and smells the air. “I… He smells like death now, but we didn’t hear or smell them coming. Some of us were outside when they struck.” Her voice quivers, but she balls her hands into fists, her lips setting in a tight line. “We’re out of time.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel’s voice is tight and she looks at him with intent.

“I mean, we burn our dead. You recover tonight and leave tomorrow to meet your alliance. Strike down Azazel and find out what’s happening on our lands. This… This reeks of the Devil Below.”

“Kevin was right?” Charlie whispers.

“I don’t know, child,” Deanna mutters on a pained sob. “But this… This can’t be Tribal doing.”

“Azazel’s one of us,” John says. “He’s always been surrounded by knotheads.”

“He has. He is, but not like this. Not even he would do this.”

Several of them cast doubtful glances to each other. Dean frowns, bending closer to the corpse, inhaling it. His gag reflex kicks in, but he persists, trying to analyze what he sees through scent.

“Azazel is cruel and traditional, but he is in many ways like most of us apathetic to the status quo and to the plight of those he deems invisible or a nuisance. As long as his life can continue on, undisturbed, he doesn’t truly care and simply… sates his urges. Power.”

“Superiority,” John offers. “Yet he provoked us into inter-tribal conflict.”

“And you fell for it,” Deanna smiles. “Though I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you or my daughter. We’ve always fought. It’s stupidity, but it’s true.”

“Not like this.”

“This,” she insists, pointing at the corpse, which Dean is now turning over. “This is not Tribal doing. It’s beyond their means and spirit. This is more than cruelty.”

“It’s against nature,” Dean says. “There are scars that aren’t from battle wounds…”

His anger is audible, coiled deep within, and Castiel’s gut churns unpleasantly. “Elysium is involved.”

Deanna clicks her tongue, her eyes now genuinely brimming with tears, and she linked the fingers of both hands on Samuel’s unmoving chest. “It might be my old mind, fearing ghosts from the past. Too much has happened.”

Dean abandons the corpse to sit with her. “We’ll give them a Hunter’s burial. All of them. But we gotta look to your head and that leg first.”

Castiel steps up immediately, boxing in his worry and anxiety, because he fears he’ll fall apart if he voices them out loud. Focus on what can be done. “Who else is hurt?”

They go about tending wounds and taking stock of the damage to the den. They gather wood for the pyres. Castiel keeps Jack by his side at all times and slowly but steadily it catches up to him.

If he and Dean hadn’t gotten so caught up in each other, he might have been there to save Claire.

Dean senses the anger in Cas the moment he steps inside his mother’s old room. Everyone’s inside the den for the night, resulting in some of them grouping up, but somehow he and Cas got their own space. The emptiness is overwhelming enough without the uncertain fate of their pack. He senses his own Alpha rise up at the energy Cas is exuding, intense fury lapping at his ankles. His intent to ask makes it across the distance before he can even form the words.

“We should have been here.”

It would be a lie to say he doesn’t share Cas’ hollow sentiment. Guilt is an easy emotion to slip into, Dean knows it all too well.

“The den was burning by the time they got here… Whoever did this was gone.”

“It… doesn’t matter. I should’ve stayed with Claire and Jack. We should have.”

He doesn’t know if Cas means him and Dean, or him and Gadreel. Not that it matters that much. Gadreel’s eyes spoke volumes when he realized Lee was missing as well. Dean’s tired. His leg hurts and his head hurts worse, in that slowly drilling to the inside of his skull way. They have work to do and not enough energy to do it.

They need sleep, which is why he all but snarls at Cas, pressing his fingers to his forehead in annoyance.

“ _Morrigan’s ravens,_ Cas, we couldn’t have made a difference.”

The way Cas is looking at him, his heart trembles. His mouth goes dry with the silent question that forms, because if he says it out loud, he’s sure he’ll break something he can’t put back together.

_Do you regret it?_

Cas’ sapphire eyes flash in the warm light of the torches on the wall, his jaw setting in an interestingly beautiful way.

“Do not make this about us,” he growls.

His hand flies up to his throat on instinct. The wound is still tender, but the feeling inside even more so, as he shivers under Cas’ gaze. His vision darkens, spots forming at the edge of it. He wonders how he ever thought he could hold onto them.

“Dean, stop.”

“I… can’t,” he pants. “I can feel you… you wish we hadn’t.”

He can’t do this. Not again.

“Cas, please… They took Sam… Eileen. Bobby. I can’t lose another pack. I just… I just found you,” he grinds out, and, _Morrigan,_ the words physically hurt like someone’s stabbing him in the chest with ice-cold needles, he has to lean forward, hands on his knees.

Cas remains standing and he’s like one of those marble pillars again.

“You ran from yours too,” Cas says.

“Yeah, Cas. I did. Thinking I could make a difference…”

Cas’ lips move, his hands clenching and unclenching. Dean kicks the chest that’s at the foot of the bed in frustration, which makes Cas jump and stand taller, his eyes glittering furiously.

“So yeah, I ran. Just like you and Sam and all of the others, and it made no fucking difference for any of this. Because here we are! At least I didn’t hide among a group of fragile shifters.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s Elysium,” Dean snaps. “Their Alpha bitch is out there, doing Morrigan knows what! You’re running from them and you hid among the most vulnerable of us, putting my baby brother at risk. All of them.”

It hits home. He can taste it in the back of his throat and instantly regrets it, but he’s too angry to take it back.

“I never put them at risk! Sam and I are friends, or I like to think we are. We see eye to eye on many a thing, unlike…”

“Finish that damn sentence, I dare you. Sammy and I share more common ground than most. We were finally aligning… Do you even have any clue what chased him from our family in the first place?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. He told me about Jess. Azazel’s part in her death.”

“Then he’s been more forthcoming than you have. There’s something you’re not telling me, Cas! I’ve felt it from the start. I trusted you.”

“I… I couldn’t afford to risk…”

“What? To risk Claire’s safety? Your own? But you’d set someone else on a collision course to make life better for you? Claire is missing too now! Eileen’s pregnant!” Dean bellows.

“I am aware,” Cas roars back. “I did not do any of that. I merely advised Sam… with Bobby, in case you forgot that. I tried to steer clear of it...”

“Excuse me for preferring the head-on approach. Lay the cards out.”

“Like a good Alpha.”

Cas surges forward and Dean rears up, putting them chest to chest, nose to nose.

“ _Morrigan’s ravens pick your bones_ , Cas! I’m more than just a randomly assigned secondary gender and you know it. And you’re an Alpha, in case you forgot!”

“I wish I could. You can’t win from Elysium by going head on. You’ll…”

“I’ll what? Die? Hey, maybe it makes the difference and it’s one less Alpha for you to worry about fucking up some poor shifter’s life.”

Cas lets out a whine, as if Dean just tried to tear his heart out through his sternum.

“I swear…” The rest of it is lost in a string of furious curses and a language Dean hasn’t heard him speak before. But he knows it.

Elysian.

And everything clicks into place.

Cas is Elysian.

Amara’s on Tribal lands.

Jack was wearing Elysian clothes.

Cas and his daughter, Claire, an Elysian cub, are on Tribal lands.

He’s suddenly swallowed whole by Cas’ eyes, desperate, burning, churning with too many frantic emotions at once. The sinking realization implies too much, he can’t wrap his head around it, but his Alpha steps up defensively. _Intruder. He brought them down on us._ Dean’s not sure whether his Alpha wants to rip Cas’ throat out or flee to protect him.

Cas beats him to it, turning his back on him. A jolt of intent rocks through him, spurring him to action. Pounce. He snarls and retreats, watching Cas walk away. He swears there’s a brief moment where Cas looks over his shoulder and there’s a fleeting sense of hopeful urgency he can’t define. When Dean doesn’t speak, neither does Cas and he keeps walking.

Dean lets him go.

Castiel hightails it out of the den. It’s raining again, the skies ahead darker even than his worst nightmares.

He heaves, for real this time, upchucking what little stomach content he has, scrabbling at the nearest tree. The smell of burnt flesh hangs on the air, sticking to the inside of his nose, the five smoking pyres looking forlorn among the tall trees. He sneezes, vomit going up his nose and curses between heaves, spitting it out.

A fool. Castiel, you were always a fool. He hears his father’s voice.

He groans through another violent bout of vomit, his abdomen contracting painfully. The fact that he’s from Elysium isn’t relevant to what happened. Surely not… Unless he’s being targeted and they’re dragging everyone around him along for the ride.

With Amara on Tribal lands, who’s to say that isn’t the case? 

Because suddenly that sounds entirely plausible. He stumbles deeper into the forest, trying to breathe in fresh air. Anything but the scent of fire and death, which is reminding him of Elysium. Of the cages. The chains. His fingers dig into the tree bark, the sharp edges cutting under his nails, drawing blood. It punctures his awareness blissfully, as his mind tries to hurricane out of his body.

The wetness of the Earth breaks through and his mind is flooded with Dean, because he smells just like it, except better. Stronger. Softer. Like his real home.

He sways his head from side to side, trying to shake it off. What has he done? He always thought his family was on the warpath, the same way they’ve always done. But then the war against the Tribes is one of the only conflicts that made them lose. He remembers the long con talks when he was younger. Undoing the wrong that was the alliance was always on their agenda, but… not like this. Never like this. He never once considered that perhaps he was a separate part of the plan and there’s only one of his kin who’s that brutal.

He calls up the vision of Amara, leaning on Lucifer’s shoulder.

_What has he done?_

They didn’t know he was alive. They can’t have. The fall should have killed all of them.

His Alpha is raging for revenge and action. His Omega is shattered at the implications that he might somehow be responsible for any of this. He can barely bring his mind to stillness, let alone his two wolves in shambles. He doesn’t know how to unite them, doesn’t even know if he wants to.

“Oh, God,” he groans to the heavens.

He hasn’t uttered his father’s name in years. Even from beyond the grave, the man’s reach is impossibly long, whole armies carrying out his warped plan of purity and conquest. Dark and terrifying, the trees seem to close in on him, his chest constricting agonizingly. He shakes his head again, when he hears the echoing sound of chains rattling and whimpers.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m here.”

He leans his back into a tree, scraping his palms across the bark until they are torn open. Exhaling roughly through his nose, he looks down at his trembling hands. He rubs the blood between his fingers, his eyes catching on the bracelet.

Who has his daughter? Who has their pack members?

He’s not sure how long he stands there, trying to get a grip on his inner workings and the memories threatening to sweep him away on a riptide.

It’s Dean’s howl that brings him back to the present.

Terror rises like bile, but the timbre of the howl registers.

Come home.

Reunited.

Dean’s pacing through the room, the door Cas left through wide open, leaving a gaping chasm in his heart. It’s about the size of Cas. He’s stinking up the room and possibly part of the den with his anger and fear.

Elysian.

It makes so much sense, he wonders why he didn’t push the matter earlier. The fear Cas showed when confronted with them surpassed mere historical knowledge. It was the intimate kind of familiarity that only comes from family. Of personal experience at a level that goes beyond the mere experience of war. Up close and personal. His feelings for Cas blindsided him and he wants to seethe and rage at that. He wants to tear himself down for it, the mating bite throbbing in his neck. But his Alpha is already skipping ahead towards the part where it means _they_ were responsible for Cas’ pain. His scars.

Lucifer. Amara.

His very own kin allowed Cas to be torn to pieces. His own blood relatives forced him to breed. Dean’s stomach turns and his hand comes up to his throat again, wondering if he somehow forced Cas’ hand. The memories threaten to get stained by the chaos that ensued after. He’d been the one talking through a fair part of it. A feat in itself, but it means he has no real idea what Cas’ mind got up to.

Think, Winchester, focus. This isn’t about you. Cas was right about that much.

He’s not sure what to do with the knowledge where Cas hails from. Would the precognition have made any difference? Or does it simply feel like a personal slight? His head is pounding painfully. He can’t make up his mind, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

His nose twitches, when he realizes he isn’t alone. For a moment, he thinks… hopes it’s Cas, who returned, only to find Jack at the door. The kid lifts his right hand in greeting awkwardly.

“Hello.”

_Hellfire_ , what?

“Jack? You’re… talking?”

He smiles at Dean, the first genuine emotion he’s seen on his face since meeting him.

“Oh, but a smile looks good on you, kid,” Dean says in a relieved sigh.

It’s stronger than himself. He remembers how Jack looked after he fell through the mist. Tortured, drugged, terrorized, his scars mirroring Meg and Cas’.

In a few big strides he’s at the door and pulling Jack in a hug. The gesture pushes a soft ‘oomph’ out of Jack, but his arms come up around Dean tentatively, a hesitant gesture so similar to Cas when he’s out of his element, it stings a bit. He steps back, placing his hands on the kid’s shoulder, then touching his fingertips to his jaw.

“How are you feeling?”

“I… Clearer,” he mutters. “It’s a bit foggy.”

“Hellfire, it’s good to hear your voice.”

Jack smiles at him again, a curious frown knitting his brow together. “Yours too. I heard you… I mean, I heard everything.”

“So you’ve been aware of what was happening?”

“I heard everything. It just didn’t register… It’s doing so now at a bit of an alarming pace.”

Dean bends through his knees a bit, catching his gaze and trying to get a read on him. He doesn’t even bother to be subtle about scenting him. An Alpha. Of course. Jack’s eyebrows shoot up gently. Kid smells like… well, a kid his age. There’s a fair amount of confusion and fear.

“Yeah, sorry, kid, but I ain’t got time to be diplomatic. I need to know I can trust you and you weren’t sent in to…” He frowns, unsure how to finish that sentence, but the intent makes it across. Jack doesn’t even react, instead shrugs and nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for his loyalty to be questioned. Dean isn’t sure what to make of that.

“I… I know. Where’s Castiel?”

Dean winces. It’s all kinds of wrong that Cas isn’t here right now. “He stepped out for a moment. Want me to go get him?”

Jack shakes his head, turning trusting eyes on Dean. “Elysium let me go. They dropped me in your path.”

Pursing his lips, Dean presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and juts his chin out, squeezing down on Jack’s shoulders. Here we go, he thinks.

“To what end?”

“It’s a game,” Jack says.

“A game? What the hell is wrong with your family?”

Jack’s eyebrows do a subtle, judging thing at that question. “You met my aunt Amara?”

“Lady Kohl Eyes? Yeah. She was at the Gathering, prattling on about how she values the alliance and how they’ve changed. Yakyak. And now I’m wondering if you even know what the Gathering is…”

“I was educated,” Jack says, without a hint of pride.

“Okay… Why ask if I met her?”

“She doesn’t know where I am… I imagine she’s worried about me. And I’m not sure why I’m here.”

“Hold on. You’re telling me your aunt, the witch-lady Amara, Alpha of Elysium, has no ill intentions towards the Tribes?”

Jack nods. “Yes, she wants to respect the alliance. She wanted more…”

“So it’s Zach and Metatron?”

For a moment, Jack’s eyes cloud over, as if he needs to make sense of what’s in his head. “I think so. They never gave up on the idea of reclaiming what they lost.”

He almost sounds like he’s quoting from a book.

“What about Cas and Claire?”

“They never said anything… but…”

There’s that spike of genuine dread he’s smelled on Cas. Dean puts a gentle hand to the back of Jack's neck. “But what?”

Jack’s voice goes utterly flat when he speaks. “No one escapes from Elysium.”

Dean’s fury is so intense, his ribs hurt under the pressure of it, his body physically reacting to the implications of those words. They want to take Cas back. They want to take all of them back. Cas, Claire, Jack, Gadreel.

“Yes, you do,” he says. “We’ll make sure you do.”

Jack’s eyes search his face, narrowing slightly. _Morrigan_ , the kid looks so much like Cas, it’s unnerving.

“Where does Lucifer fit in?”

The kid trembles under his touch and he curses, when Jack flinches at the name. “He… I don’t know where he belongs. I know aunt Amara tried to… get him under control, but uncle Zach sort of dismissed her? Because he sacrificed himself during the war… and he’s following God’s plan.”

That sob story. Fuck it. Zealots.

“Whatever that means. Is he on our lands too?”

Jack shakes his head, eyes skittering away nervously, and Dean scents the air again, trying to catch any hint of lies. It’s pure fear Jack feeds back to him and he coughs, eyes watering.

“The spectres of Hell take him,” Dean grunts, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay. I… didn’t get the worst of it, I think. I don’t remember much. Just…”

He scratches at his arms, rubbing up and down the insides as if he’s itching. Dean covers his hands with his own, until Jack’s attention is back on him.

“That seems to be part of their tactics.”

Dean chews his thoughts and Jack scrutinizes him, when the fresh scent of an idea breezes through.

“Did you know your aunt is on our lands?”

“I… had no idea. I’ve only been aware of what I heard when I was around all of you. Charlie’s very sweet.”

Dean chuckles. “She is. I’m glad you’re getting along.”

“She’s also a bit sad.”

“There’s a lot of that going around lately. Okay, wild thought, kid. Do you have any way of contacting her?”

There’s a glint to Jack’s eyes and he nods eagerly. “I might be able to.” He lifts his hands and golden tendrils erupt from his fingertips.

“You're a magic user,” Dean says, awed. “Hell…”

“Only simple things,” Jack says. “It was uncle Gabriel who taught me, but he wasn’t supposed to. So I am not very strong yet.”

Dean realizes he doesn’t know nearly enough about magic. He wants to call for Bobby or Sam, only to scrunch up his face when he remembers they’re both missing. He pats Jack on the arms a few times, catching his gaze. “Okay. Okay, run me through this. How does it work?”

“I can send her a message, which is limited in scope and one-way.”

Dean’s mind is firing rapidly. “Get her up to speed then. Tell her… Okay. Missing Tribals and Nomads, Cas’ daughter among them. Hunter pack is moving on Azazel tomorrow. Lucifer’s probably on the loose. Can she back us up?”

Jack looks at him doubtfully. “That’s a lot.”

“She’s the Alpha. It’s worth a shot, hm?” 

Dean calls up the image of Amara at the Gathering. The ease with which she held back Lucifer and he clicks his tongue. It’s a gamble, but with the uncertainty of those deformed shifters in the mix, he feels he has to try it, especially seeing how little time they have.

“Well, how many messages can you send?”

“I tried healing Deanna just now,” Jack says, pointing towards his grandmother’s room. “It didn’t work… so I’m not sure I’m at full power.”

“Can you try? The message.”

Jack wrinkles his forehead and gives a firm nod. Dean isn’t sure what to expect, but suddenly the kid’s eyes flash brightly. For the briefest moment they’re pure, intense gold, but then they flicker and turn pitch-black, before going back to normal.

“You… What? You’re done?”

Dean spreads his arms in a questioning gesture, and does a double-take when he sees blood dripping from Jack’s nose. Befuddled, Jack brings his hand up and wipes it, staring at it in wonder, then at Dean. 

“It’s okay. But I don’t think it worked. I got one after trying to heal Deanna as well.”

“Damnit, kid. Tell me these things. It’s not okay,” Dean snaps.

He grabs a rag from the top of the chest, setting the little wooden wolf back upright when he knocks it over. He stands close to Jack and gently cleans the blood away, muttering under his breath.

“When did we lose all sense of control over this?”

“I don’t think you can hope to control what you don’t even see,” Jack offers.

Jack pulls his upper lip down and over his teeth, so the skin below his nose is easier to access. Dean licks the rag to ensure he gets all of the blood off, then puts Jack’s hand on the rag.

“Hold it, until it stops bleeding.”

The kid gives a muffled sound of compliance.

“You should be resting.”

Jack scoffs lightly, giving him A Look over the bloody rag. “So should you, but you were fighting.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut in a tight enough line, he hurts his teeth. It hits him that Cas needs to return to see Jack. “You’re not wrong, I guess. Come on.”

They head outside, the orange glow of the embers drawing their attention. Without hesitation, he inhales deeply, expanding his chest, the scent of smoke and night invading him. He closes his eyes and, cupping his hands around his mouth, howls. With everything he has.

The haunting melody skips between the trees and raindrops, leaving footprints like fireflies on the leaves, carrying the message.

Deep, surrendering, pleading.

Come home.

Next to him, Jack’s higher pitch joins in, blending in the night.

Breaking through the bushes into the den’s clearing, Castiel sees the outline of Dean and Jack against the light inside and his feet carry him faster than they already were. The den’s quiet aside the three of them. As soon as he catches sight of Jack, he knows something’s different.

For one, his nose is bleeding, though the worst seems to be over while he dabs at it, checking the cloth with a slight cross-eyed frown. Dean takes the thing from his hand gently and, noticing the state of Castiel’s hands, promptly offers it to him. Castiel accepts it and wipes his hands down, surprised at the amount of blood that comes off them, and studies Jack while he does. He tucks the rag in his coat.

Their eyes meet and there he is. 

“Castiel,” he smiles.

“Jack,” he says, his voice breaking.

He steps up, wrapping the boy in his arms, his slender form all but vanishing in his trench coat. Jack’s grip is stronger than he anticipated when he grabs on to Castiel’s shoulders and buries his face in his neck. Putting a hand to the back of Jack’s head, Castiel searches out Dean, his vision blurring with sudden tears. He tries to blink them away desperately, but it isn’t working.

Jack rubs his cheek to his, quivering through his scent, and Castiel returns the gesture, allowing his Omega as much space as he wants. Dean sighs when the effect extends to him and Castiel echoes the sound, holding on to Jack.

Jack smells like Dean and he smiles through a sob, because that means Dean was first to hug Jack. Another part of him smells like a long-forgotten time. Of Kelly.

“You’re back,” he mutters into Jack’s hair.

“I am.”

“Kid’s brought some good news.”

He steps back, maintaining a point of contact on Jack. “What’s that?”

“Auntie Amara. She’s true to change,” Jack smiles. “Uncle Zach and Tronny are the problem.”

“Really? Tronny?” Dean scoffs softly.

Jack’s voice sounds curiously detached, when he says these things, and Castiel becomes acutely aware that he barely knows Jack anymore. There’s a similar vigilance in Dean, but for some reason he can almost taste Dean’s granted trust. He doesn’t understand why he’d do so, not after finding out they’re both Elysian. 

Dean smiles softly. “Our Jack is a magic-user. His mojo’s sputtering a bit, but it made me remember… Any chance you got anything up your sleeve?”

Castiel thinks his heart might explode at hearing the words _‘our Jack’._ He instantly feels nauseous, because he doesn’t deserve this. He sidesteps the muck with effort, his focus on the matter at hand. On what Jack said.

“Magic?” Castiel asks, eyebrows shooting up. “No, alas, that is always the prerogative of our women. Amara knows most of us all and what little I know was due to…”

“Let me guess. Gabriel,” Dean says.

“Why would you know…?”

Dean points at Jack. 

“Gabriel taught you too?”

Jack looks a touch uncertain, as if he got caught doing something wrong. “He did.”

“Who taught him then?” Dean asks.

Castiel scoffs fondly. “Gabriel taught Gabriel… by whatever means were at his disposal and kicking as many shins in the process as he could get away with.”

Jack nods. “He’s been looking over me… but they… they figured out he helped you escape. So they kept us apart.”

A fist closes around his heart at those words, the blood draining from his face. “Where.. is he?” A shrug and he’s almost scared to ask the next question. “Did he try to escape?”

“No.” Jack makes a face. “Because he didn’t know if you were alive or not. And he figured if you were, he’d lead them straight to you, if he tried to find you. I don’t know.”

“Shit… Gabe,” Castiel exhales, hiding his face in his hands.

He always thought his brother managed to keep playing all sides, the way he’s been doing his whole life. When he exchanges a look with Dean, he knows they’re coming to the same conclusion. After Azazel, they need to get to Gabriel somehow.

“Jack… Who put you on our path?”

“Uncle Zach or… or…” The boy swallows, panting fast, and he understands. It only confirms his own feelings.

“Dean. It’s not one big conspiracy.”

Dean’s eyes are cleverly focused when he looks at Castiel and his shoulders and arms move in a _‘go on’_ gesture.

“If Amara left Elysium, because they’re no longer of the same mind, we need to find her. Zachariah and Metatron know, if they throw enough spanners in the works, the Tribes will eat each other alive and leave a vacuum. Don’t give me that look…”

“I’m allowed. It’s the human stupidity in our blood,” Dean grumps.

“I can’t really argue that.”

“What about Amara?”

“Amara… has been trying to keep control over a pack that’s been slowly going off the rails since the war. Likely before. If what Jack says is true… We need to find her.”

“Maybe she’s trying to chase down Lucifer.”

“Considering he’s on his own personal crusade, not impossible.”

“Hmm, following God’s plan?” Dean asks. “What in the seven levels of hell is that?”

“Pure breeding. Better pack members. Strong soldiers that spread the faith. In that sense, he’s still aligned with Zachariah and Metatron.”

Castiel suppresses the wince that jolts through his body, but Jack fails to.

“Who’s to say they didn’t release dear old Luci?”

“No one, but the effect is the same. He’s a loose cannon that’ll eventually point everyone’s way.”

Dean’s hand balls to a fist over and over, clearly itching to do something about that. “Fucking awesome.” He nods a few times and wipes a hand over his mouth, while palpably mulling things over in his mind. “It might be time to get some rest. We haven’t slept decently in days.”

It’s hard to argue with that, because Castiel’s whole body hurts. He feels he could sleep for a week and they haven’t even confronted Azazel or Elysium yet.

He follows Dean to the bedroom, neither of them questioning it when Jack joins. He throws off his trench and boots, while Dean sheds his weapons, belt and boots. Jack follows suit before clambering into the bed. The room smells like Mary, with a generous hint of John who slept here until Dean and Cas took the room, and John moved to Deanna’s room. If the rooms were bigger, he’s sure Charlie and Gadreel would be sleeping here, but as it is, they’re sharing one with Adam.

Jack mumbles a good night, curling up on his side, facing the wall. They both sense the boy falling asleep almost instantly.

“Get in first, Cas,” Dean says, voice so low and soft, it suddenly feels like he’s underwater.

Castiel obliges, too tired for more fighting, and lies on his back, arms crossed, Jack’s back pressed to his side. Jack whines softly in his sleep.

Joining in the bed, Dean’s trying to justify his idea to himself while he watches Cas settle in. He turns on his side, elbow propped on the mattress so he can lean his chin on his hand.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

Tired eyes find him in the light of the torch. They always pull down at the corners, casting Cas’ face in a permanent sad impression until he smiles, and it’s worse tonight. There’s too much going on in that lovely, messy head.

Cas scoffs when he senses Dean’s fondness. He unfolds one arm and places slender fingers to Dean’s face, letting them trail down his cheek to his neck. His heartbeat responds to the touch. “As am I, Dean. I was so used to hiding the truth.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Oh, really?”

“I know how it sounded, but I don’t. It’s that I’ve been so used to being on my own for the last five years, making no difference, the anger… it becomes too much. I’m so sick of coming up short.”

“You don’t, Dean…” 

“Cas, more than half our pack went missing on my watch.”

“Our watch. In case you didn’t notice, there were two of us in the grass.”

“Really?” Dean says, putting a hand over Castiel’s hand on his throat. “I was wondering where I got this…”

Cas’ eyes darken and skitter across his face. “You’ve been remarkably forgiving considering my behavior.”

“What’s it matter?” Dean asks.

“Pardon?”

“It doesn’t matter what you are or where you’re from. It’s what you do. And what you’ve done is nothing I wouldn’t have, had I been in your shoes.”

Cas hums that delightful soothing sound, which draws Dean in closer.

“Hunter approach?” Cas asks. “Because doing something stupid for your loved ones is the right thing to do?”

“Hell, yes.”

It all skates close enough to his idea to be truthful. Doubt and fear fight for dominance in Cas’ scent, when Jack stirs next to them and his thoughts inevitably skip to Claire. Dean leans over him, placing a hand over his heart as he’s seen her do, slipping his fingers into his shirt.

“We got this, Cas, I promise.”

“Do not make empty promises to me.”

“It’s not empty. Sense for it.”

“How can you…?”

He kisses Cas silent in the gentlest way he can muster up, hoping some of his intentions aren’t bleeding through. Cas whines into the kiss, wrapping his arm around Dean’s neck.

“Dean.”

His breath is so sweet and warm against his lips, it’s clear Cas is letting his Omega out to play. His Alpha nudges his nose to the air, rumbling contentedly at the trust and the gorgeous scent.

“Herbed honey,” Dean whispers, parting his lips so Cas floods his senses. “Warm honey.”

There’s a soft chuckle and when he looks at Cas, his cheekbones are a tinge darker than the rest of him.

“My gorgeous mate,” Dean murmurs.

Cas kisses him again, nosing at his cheek and neck, in search of his scent. “Dean, you’ve been alone for too long and I’ve been nothing but a ghost. I… I thought I was okay maintaining my distance, focused only on change… on day to day survival. You…”

Dean looks at him, intrigued by the breezy, lighter touch to their scent. Something infinitely hopeful. 

“You changed that. Despite all my moods, despite how I pushed you away. You reminded me of what truly matters, even when all of it matters, if that makes sense. That there’s little point to living if you remain stuck in your head. That cave…? What happened there?”

“Yes,” Dean mutters, surprised by the amount of words that are making it past Cas’ lips.

“It was real. Wherever we were, whatever plane of existence we were in, it was still real.”

“How do you figure?”

“What once was and what can be once more. That’s what it showed us. And it took me long enough to figure it out. Us. Our pack. I’m not running from you again, Dean, I promise.”

He did not count on that. The words slice through his intentions, almost making him second-guess them. Nor does he know what to say to that.

“Dean?” 

Nodding, he tries to look at Cas without getting lost in the elements that make him whole.

“It’s important for you to know that.”

“I know,” he hums, because it’s in every subtle layer of Cas’ scent, this wild, deeply felt promise. “I can taste it.”

He cards his fingers through Cas’ unruly hair. 

“I know you hate the thought of my affection for you being purely driven by instinct, but I like to think it’s more a matter of the perfect fit? You know what I am like, Cas, it ain’t tradition. That’s all me and we… you… I’m not good with this.”

Cas purrs at him in encouragement, warm hands on his chest. 

“But you respond to me in natural ways, your heart and mind, even when you don’t trust yourself… I honestly believe that’s the only right way. Truer to our wolf kin than I’ve ever known anyone and how the world perhaps ought to be.”

“That’s too much credit,” Cas says, half-joking, the blush spreading to the roots of his hair.

“It feels true to me.” He hesitates one heartbeat to the next and leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “Just… **Sleep until the morning, Alpha-mine** , I promise. I’ll fix this.”

He watches Cas frown in confusion, when the order hits, eyes widening, before falling shut.

Out like a snuffed flame.

Dean slips out of the bed and starts adding layers to his outfit, keeping his focus on the practical. On what is necessary. Shirt, soft leathers, armor. Heavy boots. He tucks away every damn weapon he owns on his body. He considers whether or not to travel with Baby, but for what he has in mind, he needs his canine nose. He writes a note, concisely explaining his intentions and the promise to be back before dawn with or without her. He knows these lands better than most.

Dean leaves the den on his own and removes himself a good distance.

Fully armed and armored, he shifts to his wolf form, quite pleased when he notices Cas spoke true. His claws are darker and larger. He licks his muzzle, finding his teeth longer and sharper than usual. Even his fur seems thicker, heavier.

Interesting.

He shakes his head and starts moving, surrendering to his Alpha wolf senses, intent on finding but one scent. Crowley’s den isn’t ridiculously far. If Amara was there in search of Cas or Jack, Dean’s convinced he can find her.

An Alpha witch.

If he can bring her to their pack before the fight tomorrow, they might stand a better chance against whatever that deformed shifter was and the likes of Lucifer.

He trots through the undergrowth, until it changes into grass, all the while his mind trying to figure out the loose ends. How the hell were they able to overrun a full den, containing no less than eight trained shifters? How did they show up out of nowhere, smelling of nothing.

His nose to the air, he remembers Amara. Her large, dark eyes. The high cheekbones. The elegance with which she moved. Her scent is hard to identify, but his nose remembers. It always does. And hers is faint, so faint, anyone else would dismiss it as an old trail.

His nose always remembers.

It’s why he’s surprised when he picks up a completely different scent. One that has nothing to do with Amara. It carries a touch of Lucifer’s, before he tries to cough it away and confusion hits. His nose prickles unpleasantly.

There’s movement to his right, but so low to the ground, he thinks it must be a hare or bunny. Yet it’s too big and it moves erratically, flickering closer in the blink of an eye. Instinct kicks in, but it’s too late.

A weight slams into him and a vicious pain punctures his throat.

“My, my, Dean Winchester… I’ve always loved your coat.”

He knows the voice. And that scent of wet rock… It’s the caves. 

The Devil Down Below.


	27. Muddy Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dumb, stubborn bastard,” he growls, allowing some of the fury out.
> 
> He spots John in the doorway. 
> 
> “I can’t say I entirely disagree with the general sentiment,” John says, “Though I’d advise you not to speak of my son that way.”
> 
> Castiel shoots John an exasperated look. “As I understand, you never went easy on him either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, a most amazing singer for this one.. [Muddy Waters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ss8t7a8n0U4) by LP. Potentially a sound you either like or don't, not sure, but I adored her the moment I discovered her work.
> 
> *makes grabby hands for hugs*  
> Hope you're well, you lot. Much love,  
> Mal

Castiel wakes with a start to Jack shaking him, dragging with it the last thing he saw before he sank into an empty, dreamless sleep with it. Dean’s face, eyes swirling with guilt, a stubborn set to his jaw, as his lips landed an order Castiel was powerless to ignore.

He grabs hold of Jack’s forearms, his head spinning unpleasantly. “Jack, I’m awake. It’s alright.”

“Dean’s gone to find Amara!”

He curses colorfully, while Jack moves so he can sit up. His head feels like a block of wood, but it’s nothing compared to the tightness in his chest. His mate is gone. Dean Winchester decided to use his voice on him and run off, trying to fix stuff on his own. 

_“I promise, I’ll fix this.”_

His Alpha all but rips itself out of his human vessel into wolf form to find Dean and get him to submit. To anything other than his wild stubbornness and lack of self-preservation, trying to fix the world for everyone else. Yet Dean’s done nothing but that for these past five years, so how can he fault the pup? Castiel understands at a deeper level. It does nothing to ease his fears or anger, not really, but there’s a grumbling edge of reluctant understanding.

“What happened to you?” Jack asks.

Castiel reaches out to him, pressing their wrists together. “A very heavy sleep. How do you know? That he went to find Amara.”

“He left a note.”

“Dumb, stubborn bastard,” he growls, allowing some of the fury out.

He spots John in the doorway. 

“I can’t say I entirely disagree with the general sentiment,” John says, “Though I’d advise you not to speak of my son that way.”

Castiel shoots John an exasperated look. “As I understand, you never went easy on him either.”

“I haven’t,” John amends, gesturing him and Jack over. “I’m starting to see that.”

“So how would you rather I speak of him?”

John’s eyes crinkle into a sad smile. “Lovingly, at the end of all this, provided we survive. He can’t entirely help it, I believe. He got the worst and best from both of us…”

He wants to scoff at it, but he’s seen John and Mary around each other. Despite John’s attitude towards his son and his people, he’s starting to sniff out some part of their truth. “Why does he do it?”

John seems taken aback by the question or perhaps the forthright request to speak openly about his eldest son. It takes him a moment to process.

“Because… he was trained to fix problems, regardless of the cost to himself. I’m aware of the implications,” John says, lifting a stern hand at Castiel’s gut reaction. “Because he’d rather ask for your mercy than your permission.”

Castiel tilts his head at the word ‘mercy’, because it’s a long cry from typical Alpha behavior. “Was that part of his training too?”

John chuckles cynically, tucking both hands in the pockets of his dark leather coat. “Not by a long shot. Mary and I… We’ve always known.”

“Known what? Because fuck implied.”

“I thought we’d done that already,” John says, tone surprisingly mild at Castiel’s anger. “I know Dean’s a gentle soul at heart. I know he hid as a kid to build his nests. I know his brother helped him hide it and learn to put up the right front. Ironically, in that sense they influenced each other. Sam took on some of Dean’s Alpha tendencies and vice versa.”

“Then… If you knew he feels so intensely, why didn’t you hold the space for him? Perhaps he wouldn’t be out there now…”

“Like I said, that’s the best and worst of both his parents. He grew up in a vastly different time… We are prone to brazen decisions for our loved ones.”

Castiel bares his teeth at him. “You’re saying this is my fault?”

“Fault has nothing to do with it. Dean’s wired to want to save people, to make it better. He’s always done it to his own detriment. We fed into it, because… to us, it was the only right way to live, being where we have been. And he’s been alone too long. So now that he’s found you, all of you, there’s nothing he won’t do to safeguard that.”

“So why aren’t you chewing me out? For putting him in danger.”

“The way you’re dying to chew me out?” John asks, dark eyebrows rising. “I can smell your Alpha all the way over here.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. He figured his Alpha scent would seep back in and it makes him highly uncomfortable, knowing that everyone who always thought him an Omega can now just pick up on it. He did not miss this, but perhaps the time has come to stop hiding. Part of him is curious to know how the two will blend.

“Yeah, I have no idea what you are exactly. At this stage, I don’t care, but at the end of all this, I’d like to learn. Seeing as you mated my boy.”

“If you’ll forgive me for chewing him out when we get him back.”

“By all means, don’t hold back. It’s the only way we learn. Eventually. If it’s any consolation, what I… what we taught him will likely help him survive.”

“It better,” Castiel grinds out through gritted teeth.

John nods. “Now. Amara. Jack’s brought me up to speed. How do we get a hold of her?”

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes, aware he needs to focus. Pantheons willing, he’ll get everyone back, including Dean, reclaim him and have Dean claim him. The spike of wanton Omega need riding his spine is painfully hopeful, and he curtails it, willing both wolves in line.

He shakes his head. “All I can think of now is a howl, plain and simple. If she’s nearby…”

“How will she know it’s you?”

Castiel sighs and steps out of the room, finding everyone at the table. Despite having lost over half their number, the den is still fairly crowded, Benny’s pack now being in the majority. He ensures he speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Because we’re related. Jack… Gadreel, Claire and I. We all hail from Elysium. I… I escaped from them when I was pregnant with Claire.”

Patience looks up at hearing her friend’s name from within Gadreel’s arm. Adam’s on her other side, looking haggard, but alert. Karen and Charlie are flanked by Benny’s warriors, snug between their heavy cloaks.

“What happened?” Charlie asks, making grabby hands at Jack. Jack smiles, walking up to her until she can lean into his stomach.

He grimaces. His story is his own and he doesn’t need all of them to start looking at him differently. 

“Forced breeding,” he says, waving a hand to dismiss it. 

Gadreel pitches in. “Elysium being what they are, we didn’t want anyone knowing where we came from. Not if we could help it.”

Castiel nods, shrugging helplessly. “I wonder now if that was perhaps a mistake… If by not telling you, I blindsided us all.”

“Brother,” Benny says, and Castiel’s heart does something strange at being addressed so. “From what Dean told me, he’d have done the same. From what I understand, I would have too. And judging by that monstrosity that killed our kin, the ones that overran this den, I don’t think there’s any way you could have prevented this.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Castiel smiles, chest tight, nodding in gratitude. “As it is, I feel I need to try and get Amara here, with her hopefully Dean. We need to get moving towards Crowley.”

“We’ll need to divvy up,” John says. “Attack Azazel and see if we can find our missing pack members.”

“Are you going to howl for your Alpha lady?” Benny asks. “I understand she can be an asset.”

Benny is wiggling the note Dean scribbled between his fingers. Castiel reaches for it, staring down at the neat, slanted handwriting. He resists the urge to bring it up to his nose. Or eat it.

Fucking mating bond. He’s on the worst end of the biological spectrum. Between now and the end of it, he’s bound to do something stupid.

“Yes.”

Gesturing at Gadreel, they move outside. The pyres are reduced to charred wood and he looks away.

“Cassie,” Gadreel mutters. 

“I’m sorry about Lee,” he says, before anything else takes away from that. “I’m sorry we’re in this mess again.”

Gadreel’s face contorts in a way Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time. They become aware of Jack hot on their tail.

“The only reason I’m even remotely willing to get her to find us, is because she might be the only one who knows more than any of the shifters inside that den. But… Cassie, are you sure you want to do this? I want them back. All of them. But once she’s here… there won’t be a way back.”

“Jack says she changed. I couldn’t trust her when I saw her. I’ve known her only as Dad’s equal, in everything, but…”

“But you trust me?” He senses Jack searching his face, brow furrowed, yet everything else about him quite static.

“Yes, Jack. Of course I do. I knew your Mom and I remember when you were just a cub. I trust you.”

Jack nods. Gadreel looks from him to Jack, sighs and clenches his jaw, shaking his head. “Very well.”

“Alright, follow my lead. Gadreel, go low. Jack, go high. Weave the melody.”

He tilts his head up, closing his eyes. With so many faces floating before his mind’s eye, whose fate is now tied to whatever comes next in more tangible ways than ever before, he howls for her. His aunt. His former Alpha. 

The one who, alongside his father, betrayed him years ago and surrendered him to Lucifer.

It’s a terrifying melody, her song. One of dark laments and churning depths. The others come trickling out of the den at the sound of it. At night it’s even worse, but even in broad daylight, he feels the shiver that courses through them. Though he wonders how much of that is due to his own fears and experiences. When he opens his eyes, he feels surprisingly even-keeled.

“Best if we get moving,” Castiel says over his shoulder. “If she heard that, she’ll find us.”

“Yeah, but won’t about every other Elysian in a wide radius?”

“That song is meant for her,” Castiel says. “Very few Elysians know it. And if Lucifer hears it… Well, he’ll know she’s coming for him too.”


	28. Lullaby Of Woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean!” Sam whisper-shouts.
> 
> “Sammy,” he smiles. “You’re alive.”
> 
> “Dean, please tell me they didn’t get everyone.”
> 
> “They didn’t. Just my dumb ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dean in chains (not the fun ones), ALSO IN THE ART, kidnapping, abduction, imprisonment, non-consensual drug use, miscarriage, Alastair being true to form
> 
> Title song is none other than [Lullaby Of Woe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohNpf4VnlP8) from The Witcher. The version I found is by Ashley Serena, so not sure if that's the original. Either way it fit the vibe for this.

Dean stirs to wakefulness in a moist, disturbing darkness to the sound of rattling chains. He’s been awake before, but was put back under every time. Instinctively he submits to a few reflexes. He keeps his breathing the same, which is easier than expected, because he anticipated pain like the previous times. Instead his senses are unpleasantly dulled, so it doesn’t take much for him to realize he’s drugged up. Potentially continuously so. 

He goes over his body’s state of being, as best he can. Chains are cutting into his wrists, but he can move his fingers and toes. He’s naked and he rolls his eyes, which - oh, hey - does appear to hurt his brain. His mouth is excessively dry and there’s an itch under his skin he can’t scratch. From his vantage point, lying on a smelly heap of dried grass, he glances around. 

He’s in a damned metal cage, put together haphazardly from the looks of it, but still sturdy. Its surface is slick with moisture, though whether blood or water, he can’t say. Beyond the bars, torches whose light breaks across the rocky insides of the cave and more cages.

He sucks his cheeks in, working up saliva to wet his mouth. The sharp tang of iron floods him in the process and he wonders what they’ve done to him. Foggy memories are starting to stir and he shies away from them, in favor of inhaling his surroundings. It is a violent assault on his nose, but it provides him with an immediate sense of relief.

Sam, Eileen and Claire are alive and close-by.

It kicks his instincts into gear and he moves, turning onto his side, wincing at the scraping sound of the chains over the ground. Once up on his haunches, he sees the outline of at least four cages. His heart contracts when he sees her, lying curled up in the closest one. At least her clothes are still on.

He tries to whisper her name, which comes out a broken whisper. “Claire.” She doesn’t stir.

“Dean!” Sam whisper-shouts.

“Sammy,” he smiles. “You’re alive.”

“Dean, please tell me they didn’t get everyone.”

“They didn’t. Just my dumb ass.”

Sam scoffs a laugh. “What did you do?”

“I…” He almost mentions Amara, but bites his tongue at the last moment. “I think I’m better off not saying any of that out loud here. Let’s just say I went off on my own and got nabbed.”

Sam bonks his head into the metal bar. “ _Cern’s balls,_ Dean, why would you do that…?”

“Cause I thought I was onto something. Still think I am. Just… Alastair got to me first. Do you know how the others are?”

“Fair point,” Sam concedes. “And no, I have no idea. Now and then I’ll catch a whiff of one of ours on Alastair or Lucifer, or one of their… soldiers. But we haven’t seen or spoken to any of them since they took us.”

“What’s going on with those soldiers anyway? We found one of their corpses at the den. Took two of Benny’s kin to kill it.”

“Experiments. At first I thought they were mutations and who knows, maybe some of them are, but… Dean, they’re… altering shifters.”

“Have they…?”

“Just torture,” Sam says, voice clipped.

His eyes rolling to the heavens in a mute plea, Dean lets out a sordid laugh. They must be in golden times if it’s _‘just torture’._

“Eileen?”

He hears her talking, but can’t make enough out without her signing and the distance between them.

“Not yet, but that’s just because they’re playing with us. It’s only a matter of time.”

The desperation in Sam’s scent hits like a brick wall. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“It’s okay, Dean. You’re here.”

He makes a face in the dark. “How is that a good thing? This isn’t one of our pup scuffles…”

“I have faith in you. And Cas.”

Great. He found everyone, by getting caught, and Sam still thinks the world of him. Cas is going to have his hide, if Alastair doesn’t do the work for him first. Because he remembers the last words, spoken in that high-pitched, breathy voice, before he got tackled to the ground and drugged up.

Cas.

He glances up to the cave ceiling, blinking dust out of his eyes. These cursed caves. He vows to fill up the whole underground network with all the sand on the beaches, if he makes it out. A belligerantly stupid sentiment, because he’s powerless in ways he’s never been before.

 _Morrigan_ , he pleads, though he doesn’t quite know what he’s pleading for beyond the chance to get everyone out in one piece. Maybe to see Cas again, if he’s that lucky. Just once. Because suddenly the caves feel intensely claustrophobic and he knows how much his pack knows. Not nearly enough to be able to find them. They thought it was Lucifer, gone rogue. They never considered the worst of them would form a united front.

His mind bends under the influence of the drugs and he tries to fight it, but slips into a strained darkness, Sam calling his name.

There is no cure for disorienting loss.

We know we are vulnerable, Dean thinks, but never quite how vulnerable we truly are until it’s too late. There is too much pain in this place, too much loss and despair, and he wonders if it’s all theirs. If it’s even really here, or if it’s the ghosts in Lucifer’s tracks. Eileen’s been crying. So has Sam. He knows in his heart what that means. The scents on the air want to sap him of his energy. Sometimes it feels like it’s working, all that he is bleeding into the soil.

Today, pain makes it through. His head is in and out of awareness, his vision blurred by spots of blood.

And yet somehow through the scent of his grieving brother and sister, through Claire’s shivering fear, he remembers Cas’ smile. The light in his eyes when he lets his guard down, which now that Dean thinks about it, he’s been doing more often. His heart threatens to shatter at the thought he will never see Cas with Claire and Jack again. That Sam and Eileen might never leave this place. That these can be their last memories.

That’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is knowing his pack will show up. Claire is here. Sam and Eileen are here. They’re _all right here._ His pack will show up. Whether in time or not is another matter. He wants them to save the others, but he doesn’t want them near the madness that is Alastair and Lucifer.

He tilts his head up towards Claire’s cage. His voice is thick with bloody saliva when he speaks. 

“Claire, sweetheart?”

She whines softly and he sees movement in the shadows.

“Talk to me about your Dad?”

“Why? They might hear.”

Such a clever tyke. He wills his faith into his scent, hoping it cuts through the drugs to all of them. Claire lets out a soft, sweet whine, so he believes it might. Feels it confirmed, where there’s a similar sentiment coming off both Sam and Eileen, as riddled with acidic sadness as it is.

“Because he makes us happy. But I’ll start, if you like.”

She shuffles around. “Okay.”

He gives it some thought. “You know those stars he likes so much…”

“You mean the ones that you can only see when it’s really, really dark?”

“Exactly those. The ones you only see when it’s darkest. They love your dad right back.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he says with a smile when she moves closer and he can see a sliver of her pale face through the bars and obstacles.

He feels her suspicion. “How do you know?”

“You’ve seen your Daddy’s wolf, yes?”

“Duh.”

“The stars painted his fur, have you noticed?”

It takes a moment, but he hears the soft ‘oooh’. “On his shoulders…”

“Yep. You know he will save you, right?”

“Yes,” she nods, clasping her arms around her knees. “He always finds me. No matter how far I run.”

“You didn’t run this time, Claire,” Dean says. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” she nods, sniffling. “But now I don’t know if he’ll find us.”

“He will. He promised me he’d always be there.”

“For you?”

“For all of us, but yes, also for me.” And here in this dreadful darkness, he suddenly worries about having a cub’s permission to be with her father. His voice sounds stupidly small. “Is that okay?”

“Of course!” 

For the first time since being here, she giggles, the sound lifting Dean’s heart, until it’s warbled by another laugh, swallowing it whole. The thin sound of metal on rock sends sparks flying. Claire scrambles to the middle of her cage and holds very still, already understanding that to go near the bars likely puts her at risk of something invasive.

“How wholesome,” Alastair says. “I might retch.”

“Makes two of us at the sight of you,” Dean quips.

Alastair lights a few more torches, revealing a set of three tables in the middle of the cave. They are gruesome even like this, with manacles and straps. Alastair steps into view. His focus is on Claire, for the simple reason that he enjoys rattling her. The cruel glee is palpable on the air.

Dean groans, forcing himself to move. Get up.

“Close your eyes, Claire. Close your eyes.”

He slams an arm up against the bars, sliding back down until his hand catches on one. Almost slips off again - when did that blood get there? - but he grabs on tighter and pulls himself up to his knees. The taste of iron floods his mouth when his orientation changes to upright, and he almost chokes on his own saliva and blood. With a snort, he clears his throat and spits it out.

“Don’t you look at her, you dickbag. Look at me.”

He tries to use his voice, but whatever chemicals are running through his veins, they sap his control. Too much. They’ve worn off and spiked over the past days, depending on where Alastair’s focus is. He guesses, because he’s experiencing serious gaps in his memory. Lucifer is often there in the shadows, muttering suggestions, clouding Alastair’s already sinister, unhinged mind. 

Lucifer. 

The vile creature that put his hands on Cas. The monster that is still after him, chasing him even in his dreams, and is in league with the worst of their Tribes. Alastair hasn’t touched Claire so far. Not yet. He’s busied himself with Dean and other shifters in other parts of this cursed underground system. 

Dean can only hope Claire is somehow off-limits, because of orders higher-up. Perhaps Elysium has plans for her.

Claire’s whimper is all that gives her away, as she valiantly resists the fear that hangs thick on the air. She doesn’t listen, her wide eyes stuck on Dean, the whites in stark contrast to everything else around them, to the world Cas tried to protect her from… until Alastair steps between them. That’s when she starts snarling valiantly, the sound slip-sliding into the screams that give away how young she truly is.

Hoisting himself up, ignoring the pain that charges through him, Dean throws himself against the cage bars. Distantly he hears Sam and Eileen do the same. They cause enough chaos for Alastair to turn his attention to them. Dean reaches through the bars, letting his claws out. Alastair smoothly moves out of reach, his thin lips twisted in a lop-sided, mocking smile. The sound of his laughter is grating, but Dean has his focus. He tries to crush the bars in his fists, baring his teeth and snarls words he doesn’t even register.

They’re enough. They draw Alastair to him.

His sunken eyes are amused, like he’s in on the world’s best joke, while he bends over, coming eye to eye with Dean. Out of reach. He flicks the knife close to Dean’s hands, nicking his skin.

“Hmmm,” he hums, licking the knife. “If only you have any idea what’s yet to come, Dean.”

He presses his face to the bars between his hands, snarling non-stop. “Oh, yeah? Tell me, almighty dumbfuck Alpha,” he goads. “Tell me what’s coming. Let’s see if you can give me nightmares instead of a defenseless cub.”

Alastair chuckles lowly, a gurgling sound that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. “You’ll make such a pretty, pretty Omega for me once we’re done with you. For now, sleep in that lovely cage of yours.”

The injection is nothing but a pin prick and his vision goes black at the edges. He hears Claire’s crying and feels Sam’s fury as he goes down, knowing that when he wakes up it will be infinitely worse.


	29. Each Coming Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wolf!” Benny says, lifting a fist to halt their group.
> 
> “It’s her!” he immediately calls back. “It’s Amara.”
> 
> She trots up smoothly and there’s that magical moment where she shifts mid-step, from quadruped to biped, not missing a beat. Her hair’s pinned sensibly and she’s in full leather armor, two daggers on her back, a sword at her side and axes at her hips. An array of glass vials is fitted in her belt.
> 
> “Odin would be proud,” Benny mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song is [Each Coming Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNXisvrK1_o) by Iron And Wine (again).

Castiel brings up the rear with Gadreel and regards their pack, little and broken: Jack, John, Karen, Benny and his kin. The majority of them are dressed for travel and armed to the teeth. John has Baby by the reins. Dean’s birds are staying with Deanna, as are the cubs, Charlie, Adam (much to their dismay) and three of Benny’s warriors. Their uniting sentiment seems to be guilt.

Amara appears in her wolf form on the third day of travel, one more day removed from Crowley, approaching them from the flank. Castiel recognizes her from afar, his heart leaping up in his throat.

“Wolf!” Benny says, lifting a fist to halt their group.

“It’s her!” he immediately calls back. “It’s Amara.”

She trots up smoothly and there’s that magical moment where she shifts mid-step, from quadruped to biped, not missing a beat. Her hair’s pinned sensibly and she’s in full leather armor, two daggers on her back, a sword at her side and axes at her hips. An array of glass vials is fitted in her belt.

“Odin would be proud,” Benny mutters.

“Castiel,” she whispers. “Gadreel.”

How strange. He doesn’t know if he wants to hug or attack her, purely on instinct, or ask her… Why? Next to him Gadreel trembles in anger and he realizes they’re feeding off each other. She swallows and gives a curt nod at them, her gaze tracking to...

“Jack,” she sighs. “You’re alive…”

And suddenly Jack surges forward into her arms. They hug so tight, Castiel can almost feel the pressure by proxy. When she releases him, she puts both hands to his cheeks.

“I am so sorry, cub, I… I’ve been blind and kept in the dark, putting my faith in men I should not have. Which is no excuse…”

Her dark eyes brim with tears, but the way she holds herself is the pure steel he remembers from when he was growing up. Yet her expression is so vastly alien in contrast to how he believes he knows her, how he remembers her. She looks around searchingly, hopefully, and he remembers how she looked at the cubs at the Gathering. The pain of missing Claire cutting through him is like shards of glass dragging across his insides. Her dark eyes are wide when Amara studies his face and he shakes his head. Her fingers dig into Jack’s arms.

“She was taken, along with a large part of our pack,” Castiel says, straightening up. “Claire. Both of John’s boys. Gadreel's mate."

John does both him and Gadreel the favor of stepping up at that moment, extending a formal hand to her, which she instantly grasps with both her own. “Lord Winchester.”

“Spare me,” John says with a charming, crooked grin, and Castiel sees where Dean gets it. “John will do. I’m not the Alpha here.” It’s a smooth addition, which has Amara glancing back to Castiel. 

He swallows down his unease and nods at John. “We’re on our way to meet Crowley and we’re under a bit of time pressure. Mind if we walk and talk?”

“Not at all,” Amara says.

And just like that they’re travelling with the living half of his former Alpha pair. Castiel has no qualms about that. There’s exactly one Alpha left, he’s remotely willing to submit to ever again, and that’s Dean Winchester, and the only reason he’s willing to do so is because he knows Dean will never ask him to.

He feels Amara seek him out regularly and he engages her in eye contact, wondering how she can look so… human, knowing she once subscribed to God’s plan. After an awkward moment of silent walking, where she observes them, she starts speaking.

“Zachariah and Metatron struck an alliance with Azazel behind my back. Well before the Gathering, I believe. Their intention was to sow discord among your Tribes and step in. Azazel will get whatever spoils at the end of it as the only Tribal left standing.”

“That’s ambitious,” John says, one eyebrow cocked, clearly put out by the fact that they assumed the others would be taken out so easily.

“I’ve learned that Zachariah, in many ways, still does not understand you. To him, you’re all..”

“Mud monkeys,” Castiel says and her gaze snaps to his face.

“I… Yes,” she nods. Though she smells uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. “He refuses to grow with the changing times and I tried for so long… to steer and control them. To try and teach them, even, though I fear I overestimated my abilities. Or perhaps control isn’t the way. We were never wired for…” She catches herself with a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t know why they’re so hellbent on their path, besides that it is simply what my brother once wanted.”

“Perhaps some are truly not capable of change,” Gadreel offers in a tight voice.

“I have to start believing it,” she mutters. “Because I fear they’ve been releasing Lucifer on your lands. As nothing more than a game of sorts. A distraction and another means to stoke the fires of dissonance between the Tribes and Nomads. There’s no room for trust, if no one knows who’s responsible. If my suspicions are correct, he’s the one who has your kin.”

The blood draining from his face, Castiel zones in on her with absolute clarity. “Where?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. These lands are foreign to me and endlessly strange in some ways. I almost fell in a hole several times over. Why don’t you close those up?”

“We did in the wake of the war,” John says. “But it’s a vast network.”

The effect of her words is electrifying and Castiel grabs her by the shoulder. “The caves,” he says. “That song… The Devil…”

“... Down Below,” John nods. “You’re telling me they’ve got them below ground?”

“It has to be,” Benny adds. “Deanna said she didn’t understand where they came from. They must’ve come from those damn holes…”

“We did close many of them off.”

“Lucifer’s been roaming a lot longer than I’m aware of. He has a crew, if you want to call them that. Michael’s lost his way alongside him and who knows how many have rallied to their cause. An army’s worth perhaps…”

“Would that army happen to be somewhat… different?” Castiel asks. “The same way… I was?”

Amara sighs. “We… allowed him to continue. Thinking it’d curb his proclivities, keep him contained. So yes, I’d say chances are high.”

“Why?” he asks. “How could you let him continue?”

She doesn’t answer, her gaze going into a thousand yard stare. “I cannot say anything that will make up for any of it. I’m here.” Her dark eyes find his, a stubborn set to her jaw he recognizes. “Tell me what to do.”

Castiel grunts and turns inward, thinking fast. “We meet with Crowley. Do a headcount and split up. The majority of us head for The Bunker. Draw attention. A smaller unit goes below ground. We sniff them out.”

“Can you?”

He clenches his jaw. “Given what’s at stake… Yes, I have faith I can sniff out Claire and Dean.”

“Very well,” Amara nods. “Now how about we shift this lot to wolf form so we can travel faster?”

“We’ll burst out of our clothes,” Benny protests.

For the first time since seeing her again, Amara’s face softens into a genuine smile. She lifts her hand, black tendrils of smoke erupting from her fingers. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve, so to speak.”

“Then by all means, lady,” Benny grins, winking at her.

Castiel feels her power emanate from her, the tendrils slithering through the grass in quick, grasping veins, pooling around everyone’s ankles.

“This is… unsettling,” John mutters, liften one foot awkwardly.

“Because it’s unfamiliar,” Amara smiles. “I can teach your pack, but for now you’ll have to make do with a spell cast on you. Now… When you’re ready, Castiel, we can shift.”

Urgency driving him, laced with clarity, he nods and strides forward, quickly picking up his pace. Gadreel is immediately on his heels, followed closely by Jack and John. He jumps in the air and bursts into his wolf form. By the time he lands on four paws and turns around, his whole pack is there.

Baby takes the sudden change in stride, trotting sideways, her legs high to show off her hooves, in case any of them decide to get snappy. She eyes them curiously, this pack of wolves from different corners of the world.

John’s dark fur, dappled with grey and silver at the haunches, ears, eyes and muzzle.

Amara’s void form, tendrils of smoke playing around her paws.

Jack’s scruffy, scrawny pale-furred wolf, the smallest of them.

Benny’s fluffy, chocolate brown coat, surrounded by the large forms of his warriors.

Gadreel’s cream-coloured fur, broad-shouldered and nearly as tall as Castiel.

He howls and takes off running, the thuds of their paws on the soil following him.


	30. End Of The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer’s gaze flicks to Dean with burning hatred, but then he grins. That lopsided, unsettling smile which twists his scarred face into a nightmare. “You think you were the first one?”
> 
> A hand appears from inside the cloak to undo the clasp at his shoulder, his eyes glowing red, brighter than any Alpha’s he’s ever seen. “You think you’re the only one?”
> 
> His voice breaks into something deeper, guttural that reverberates off the walls of the cave. “Did you think I would stop there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: body horror, ALSO IN THE ART, (I guess, not sure how bad it is, because I have no real perspective anymore), non-consensual drug use reference, confronting abuser
> 
> Because of the line 'who will survive and what will be left of them', the title song is [End Of The Line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9k2hteRp1o) by Murder By Death.

Dean’s been going in and out of consciousness for days. The previous time he woke up, he found himself in his wolf form, unable to shift back. Today is no different, though the pain is worse. Sam’s still with him, trying to soothe him through his scent, but to little avail, as his own state of mind is erratic. Both Eileen and Claire are gone.

He whines, sneezing violently, trying to expel what’s coursing through his veins by whichever means possible. Inhaling deeply, he manages to catch a whiff of Claire. He hopes it’s an actual sign of life rather than a remnant of when she was last here, but he can’t be sure.

Vision blurry, he staggers to all fours and sinks his teeth into the bars.

He starts chewing, the metal cutting in his gums, grinding his teeth.

Castiel stalks through the dark tunnels, Amara and Gadreel in tow. And Jack.

Benny wanted to join him, but Castiel decided against it. He didn’t want to separate Benny from his pack and believed John needed the help more at The Bunker. Nor does he wish anyone but Elysium to pay the price for Lucifer. To have to confront him down below. He isn’t quite sure what they’ll find, but he knows it’s their burden.

Except for Jack. He wishes he left Jack at the Campbell den or even with John, at this point.

While John, Crowley and Benny move on The Bunker, the four of them sneak through the cave network, following Castiel’s nose. Baby, unsurprisingly Dean’s equal in stubbornness, refused to go with John and stayed by Castiel’s side, until they went underground. He doesn’t know where she is now. Dean will chew him out if she gets hurt, but he trusts she knows what she’s doing. Dean’s story about how she brought him to one of his first nests has him relying on her cleverness.

The desperate relief he feels when he finally catches Dean’s scent runs bonedeep. After that, it’s a fast run, the other close on his heels. He can smell the decay before they get even remotely close. The scent of blood, death and gore triggers a sense of familiarity, of broken, erratic memories. He tries to sideline them, keep them at the edges of his awareness where they quiver and lash out, as he pushes through the fog and pain.

His wolf heart beats slower with every next step, willing himself to calm when he also notices Lucifer’s smell on the air, laced with several other shifters, united by a deformed undercurrent. He prowls through the darkness, paws wet from the dank cave floor, until they reach a clearing.

He knows instinctively they found it, the outline of metal cages obvious and out of place. It oddly reminds him of The Fort in its olden days.

His vision flashes red, then golden, before it blends, when his Alpha and Omega rise to the occasion, for once forming a united front. _Mate._ They press their bellies to the ground and sneak in, Gadreel and Amara taking up partial cover positions to his left and right, while Jack stays behind him.

The first cage he finds is empty, but has Claire’s scent all over it. He swallows the whimper that threatens to break free. Jack presses up against the cage, making it creak.

In the second one, there’s movement. A grinding noise and the heavy smell of dirt and blood on the air. Dean’s russet wolf is in chains within. He fights back bile rising up when he recognizes those chains with absolute certainty as those Dean removed from The Fort when he brought Charlie in. 

Castiel reaches out to Dean through their scent.

_“Dean.”_

There’s a quivering response through their mating bond, blind and pained, yet the grinding continues. The agony leaks through to Castiel and he trails his tongue over his teeth miserably. It’s like Dean can’t see him or if he does, believes him to be a hallucination. He remembers his own and that he had no one to break him out of them.

He steps around the cage to get a better view. Nausea hits him like a rock wall, when he sees Dean’s all but chewed his way out of it, through the metal. His mouth is dripping with ink-black blood, his eyes glazed and partly rolled up in his sockets. His muzzle, face and chest are spattered and he’s shaking on his legs. Instantly Castiel whines and reaches out to him, wishing he could break through the haze, to make him realize he is really here.

He hears noise from the other side and sees Gadreel return to his human form. Eileen’s there, but other than her, no one, and Castiel can only hope they’re not too late. If anything, Lucifer liked to keep his subjects alive as long as possible. 

They release Eileen, who immediately lurches to her feet and starts moving, dragging Gadreel along. The urgent notion of _Sam_ makes it through to him. Amara exudes a sense of caution, but sneaks towards them, after shooting Castiel a look across the distance.

Castiel turns his attention back to Dean, who’s still in his throes of escapeescapeescape.

_“Dean, my Alpha,”_ he tries again. _“I’m here.”_

He steps closer, stomach churning at the blind sense of survival oozing off Dean. He licks, sloppily, wildly, at Dean’s bloody muzzle protruding through the hole in the bars. Castiel tastes the drugs in his blood and curses mentally. 

He didn’t know wolves could cry.

_“Come back to me, Dean. We need you.”_

His Alpha provides a sense of protective urgency, while his Omega weaves in their soothing equivalent of licking Dean’s face, both unconditionally loving in trying to coax him out. He pushes in closer, trying to lick at Dean’s neck, leaving a warm, wet trail wherever he can.

And then he hears Dean’s voice in his head, when the russet wolf in the cage starts to tremble violently. He can’t make it out, but as the trembling grows more violent, Dean’s voice cuts through everything, singing along the veins of their bond. 

_“Cas, I am stuck. I can’t shift back. Get Claire… Sam, Eileen… We’re all here. Alastair…”_

_“Dean, don’t ask me to leave you.”_

_“You have to. Get. Claire. Sam too. Lucifer’s here.”_

A terrified, but determined snarl escapes him.

Cas’ indecision clings to his tongue, even through the blood and the foul taste of metal, but it’s short-lived. A surge of warmth, certainty and reassurance washes over Dean, slicing through the hazy fog he’s been stuck in. Cas’ saliva sticks to his nose and tongue where he got Dean. He feels a trembling shake him to his core, a shifting energy, when Cas changes back to his human form. Cas takes out his sword and brings it down on the lock in sharp, sparking thrusts. Dean steps back from the bars, blood trickling from his teeth and tongue.

He whines when, in the wake of Cas’ shift, a violent energy yanks at his core, wracking through his body and his bones feel like they’re all breaking. His insides are burning, blazing hot, the heat of it coursing through his veins and he howls, his voice shattering against the cave walls.

_“Dean!”_

Cas’ hands are on his burning skin the next moment, when he turns him over and Dean’s cradled against his chest. When he reaches out, he finds his own, human hand touching Cas’ leathers and blessed coat. He slides it up until he can feel the warmth of Cas’ skin under his fingers. Jack’s face comes into focus over Cas’ shoulder.

“Cas… Jack...”

“Oh, fuck me, you’re…”

“I‘m fine,” he says.

“I will have your hide for this, pup,” Cas snarls. “In ways you can only begin to imagine.”

He manages to zone in on Cas’ face and tries to smile. “Promise?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing at Cas’ chest. “Move, Cas. You gotta move. They heard me. They know. No time.”

“Amara and Gadreel went ahead with Eileen.”

“You found her…”

“She found us. Dean…”

“Go, Alpha, you know you gotta get your daughter. My brother. I’ll be right behind you. Just.. give me a minute. This body ain’t cooperating…”

He whimpers desperately, because the kiss that follows hurts in the worst and best ways possible. Clutching on to Cas with everything he has left, he licks into him, stealing as much of the soothing effect as he can. He breathes in deep, catching a beautiful blend of his scent, and lets it flood him.

And then all hell breaks loose.

They push apart, Cas on his feet in an instant as he forces Jack back and Dean tries to follow suit, but can’t. Amara comes falling backwards into the cave, crashing into one of the tables, no less than three shifters on her. She’s a whirlwind of snarling fury and smokey darkness, her teeth flashing in sharp, white contrast before they sink into a throat.

He turns on his side, propped up on one elbow. There’s no point taking stock of the damage, because his Alpha is raring to go. He hears Cas join the battle, twists his body to see. 

“Jack, kid, hide.”

“But I can help!”

He groans, unsure whether the frustration he feels is his or Jack’s. 

Amara’s fighting two of those strange, deformed monstrosities. He hasn’t seen them in action before. Fear grips him tight when he sees how fast they are, caught between two forms on two or four legs. They’re too clever, working well in tandem or more. Cas draws one of them off her and the sight is enough to spur him into action.

Snarling, he works his muscles, feeling them give way under the effort.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Jack touches his back, hissing at the warmth coming off Dean. “You’re not well.”

“I have to, Jack. Come on. Get up, Winchester. Get up, get up, get up. **Get up**.”

His voice is barely there, but the effect is instant. As if pulled by invisible strings, Dean struggles back to his feet, his body aflame, quaking like it will bend and break under the rigid strain of his own order. When he realises what he’s done, the others follow swiftly. Jack frowns at him, then his face shifts to understanding, his lips parting. 

“You can’t…”

“ **Breathe. Fight. Save them. Get Claire. The pack to safety. At whatever cost**.”

“Dean, you can’t!”

“Help me, Jack.”

He steps out of the cage and scans the surroundings for his stuff. Anything. He knows they kept their clothes and weapons nearby, because Alastair’s been practising with his sword, swinging it around while taunting Dean. 

He locates them, pulling on pants. Jack helps him slap on his armor without a shirt, belting on the sword. He keeps an eye on the fight, studying their opponents and sufficiently impressed with Cas’ skills. Jack shifts back into his wolf form, leaning into his leg. His body might be obeying him, but the pain he experiences is excruciating and he can only hope it holds out. 

“ **Ignore the pain. Fix it.** ”

Sword in hand, he surges forward into the fray.

Castiel is infinitely grateful and terrified when Dean joins the battle and Jack doesn’t. How Dean is even stable on his feet is beyond him and there’s no time. Castiel leaps into an empty fade, avoiding the claw that’s going for his throat, thrusting his sword up and forward the next moment, only to watch the shifter slip out of reach. With a snarl, his opponent tries to jump onto the table to get the higher ground. Dean takes a swipe at him, cutting off the escape.

Dean jumps forward, feigning an attack so he stumbles sideways. Castiel lunges, his sword finding a point of entry in the shifter’s armpit. It lets out a gritty howl, staggering backwards, clawing at Amara when he stumbles into her fight. Castiel passes forward, pivoting so he’s behind the creature and thrusts his sword into its neck. Gurgling through its death throes, it claws at him blindly and Castiel ducks low against its back, his shoulders and thighs scratched open.

The third shifter leaps out of reach and turns towards the tunnel where Castiel suddenly makes out Gadreel’s voice. Amara leaps after him and he wants to give chase, but a sudden movement from the shadows makes him freeze.

His senses are overloaded, his vision whiting out momentarily and he feels he’s burning up from the inside.

Slithering out of the shadows is the living embodiment of his nightmares. “You thought you could escape?” 

Behind them, he hears Jack’s destitute whimper. Lucifer moves stilted, broken, flickering in reflective glass, as if Castiel’s eyes remain closed for seconds every time he blinks and Lucifer makes it a lot closer than he should in the literal blink of an eye. 

“You…”

Stepping back, Castiel puts up his hand, palm out, in a desperate attempt to hold his demons personified at bay. Until he bumps into Dean whose arm circles his waist partly, the sword dangling from a blood-soaked hand.

Dean’s quiet strength eases some of the inferno.

“You know how that goes. Escaping from Elysium… Kelly tried to run,” Lucifer says. “Then she left. And you left.”

“Kelly didn’t leave,” Castiel snarls. “You destroyed her. You and Dad and your cursed plan. You destroyed all of us.”

“You left,” Lucifer repeats, and there’s something almost petulant to his tone. “And the cubs kept dying…”

His heart gives out, a sob wrenched out, and he has trouble breathing. There were more cubs? Dean stands beside him, fueled by pure willpower. His energy flickers in and out of existence, Castiel can feel it.

“Lucifer? What cubs? What did you do?”

“The Omegas. They wouldn’t listen. They didn’t stay alive. So I made them stronger.”

Castiel bends over slightly, heaving air.

“The cubs would have survived if you stayed. I wouldn’t have had to… do that, if you followed God’s plan.”

“Enough,” he says. 

He means it as a plea, but it comes out an order.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean grits out. “We’re done listening to your crazy ass.”

Lucifer’s gaze flicks to Dean with burning hatred, but then he grins. That lopsided, unsettling smile which twists his scarred face into a nightmare. “You think you were the first one?” 

A hand appears from inside the cloak to undo the clasp at his shoulder, his eyes glowing red, brighter than any Alpha’s he’s ever seen. “You think you’re the only one?”

His voice breaks into something deeper, guttural that reverberates off the walls of the cave. “Did you think I would stop there?”

The cloak falls to the ground and for a moment, Castiel wonders what he’s looking at, because Lucifer still seems normal. For a split moment. Then he hears the snapping of bones. The noise starts small, like crushing sea shells, Lucifer twitching every odd heartbeat and Castiel’s unable to look away while his brother, his former brother-in-arms, the one who called him ‘little one’ growing up shifts into an abomination of his former self.

He doesn’t land on four paws. Instead he looms, massive and deformed, on two hind legs in a sickening parody of humanity. His shoulders are wide and bulgy, bones pulling the skin taut. In some places it peels away, the way it has on his face, revealing inflamed, oozing muscle and bone underneath.

Dean grabs Castiel by the arm as they both stagger backwards, the shadow of Lucifer capturing them.

From the tunnel, they hear Sam’s voice. “Dean! Alastair has Claire! There’s too many of them.”

“Sammy!”

That’s all the time they get. Lucifer charges at Castiel.

Dean throws himself between Lucifer and Cas, putting his weight behind it, while he places his arms against Lucifer’s abdomen - _Morrigan,_ he’s huge - and tries to push. Large hands grab him around the waist, claws digging into his armor, and he is tossed through the air. The air is expelled from his lungs when he lands against one of the cages, a rib audibly cracking. His vision swims, his head pounding and for a moment, it feels like he might black out. Jack rushes forward and licks his face. He grumbles angrily when he watches Lucifer lumber on towards Cas, taking in the way he moves. Cas, his mate, who braces himself, despite the terror coursing through him.

He isn’t as fast as his soldiers. Dean’s back on his feet, his muscles trembling, when he rushes at him, slicing at his lower back. Jack lunges forward, snapping at Lucifer’s heels. Dean feels how afraid the kid is, yet still brave enough to fight. Lucifer snarls and chuckles, red eyes flashing, one big arm taking a swipe at Dean. He ducks under it and attempts to worm his way in front of Lucifer to shield Cas.

Cas, who’s clearly out of his depth. The slippery soil he’s on translates to Dean, both of them trying to regain their footing in the face of Lucifer.

“Cas!” he snarls.

Dean plants his foot on Lucifer’s thigh, using the height and weight of him to push him off balance. The giant werewolf stumbles sideways, leaning heavily into his right leg and pushes with his left arm, claws grazing Dean’s arm. Dean lands in front of Cas, grabbing hold of him. Jack whines at them when he turns to face Lucifer, hackles up.

“Cas, come on, honey,” he pleads. 

He snaps his fingers in front of his face. Blue eyes flicker in and out of the past, then refocus. 

“Dean, we can’t…”

Roaring, Lucifer throttles them both to the ground, kicking Jack aside. Cas lands on his back, Dean pinned between him and the abomination. The stench and weight of him are disgusting, invading his senses, nausea swirling in his stomach. Teeth sink into his shoulder and he fights it, hearing his flesh rip.

Cas’ hand closes over the back of his head for a moment, then disappears to struggle against Lucifer. Dean sees the flash of metal and hears it connecting with teeth in a screeching sound. A sharp pain slices through the back of his arm and shoulder, gets worse, but then the pressure releases and Lucifer’s howling with rage.

Dean rolls off Cas to his side, bringing up his sword and stabbing at the exposed belly. To his horror, Lucifer’s muzzle splits in a grin, a low, raspy chuckle emanating from his broad chest. He leans into Dean, sliding onto his sword, squinting in smug malice.

“Oh, little Alpha, you’ll make a lovely addition to my pack.”

The teeth and lips don’t quite move with the words. It’s an invasion of his thoughts as much as anything, slick like lamp oil and impossible to wash off. Cas brings up his sword on a snarl, going for the throat, and finally Lucifer moves out of reach, almost pulling Dean’s sword with him. They scramble to their feet.

Lucifer’s a bloody sight. It drips from his abdomen and muzzle in thick, dark drops mixed with saliva. Dean winces, the wound on his shoulder burning like mad in a similar way the drugs did. Lucifer looks like hell, but barely affected by the damage they’ve done.

“Dean,” Cas pants, pulling him backwards. 

Lucifer chuckles while he rises to his full height, sniffing the air. “I can taste your fear, little one.”

“I’ve fought him before, Dean. I couldn’t… he nearly killed me.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing some issues here myself. What do we do?”

“You submit,” Lucifer smiles, trudging forward.

Dean’s scent spikes with rebellious intent at the mere words. They break apart, dodging between the cages.

“Cas! Talk to me!”

“The tunnel! Jack, get Amara!”

The limber, quick shape of Jack’s pale wolf slips behind Castiel towards the tunnel, but Lucifer leaps for Cas again. 

Placing his palms wide, Dean jumps and scales the table, muscle memory of his wolf form transferring to his body, as he lands on all fours on the other side. Lucifer’s raging, trying to squeeze his massive form between the cages Cas disappeared behind. Dean grabs a dagger from Alastair’s set of torture tools that are scattered across the floor and throws it, planting it firmly in Lucifer’s side.

The monster staggers backward, howling, and Dean sees Cas take the opening, dashing out of reach. He runs to meet him and they vanish down the tunnel. It’s too dark. Dean stumbles, Cas grabbing his hand, whimpering at the sound of Lucifer’s footsteps rapidly catching up to them.

“Amara!” Cas bellows.

Dean snarls, jumping a little and speeding up, when he feels the hot, smelly breath in the back of his neck and teeth snap at him. 

“Any time now would be great!”

Her void wolf appears out of nowhere, bouncing off the side of the tunnel and she scales over them both, her underbelly like thunderclouds. The impact when she collides with Lucifer is like thunder. They go down in a flurry of claws, fur and teeth, snapping, snarling.

_“Go!”_

Dean looks down the tunnel and back to the fight. “Cas, we gotta…”

Sam’s shaggy, brown wolf comes running down the tunnel, Eileen’s smaller one in tow. 

“Sammy! Eileen!” He drops to his knees and for the briefest moment gets a faceful of two wolf heads bonking into him. Both of them smell terrible, but Morrigan, they’re breathing and alive and… furious.

An intense relief bleeds from Cas to him and Dean winces.

Before he can say or ask anything, Eileen disengages and shoulders past him, fur expanding when she snarls, working herself up before she jumps into the battle. He senses the panic in Sam, who licks his face and runs after her, extending a similar sentiment as Amara through his scent.

“We gotta get the others.”

They run into the darkness, the tunnel giving way to another, smaller cave with a similar set-up. There are only three cages and one table here. Gadreel is clinging onto one of the cages as he tries to unlock it with Jack’s help.

“Castiel!” Meg exclaims, her pale arm reaching through the cage bars. She sobs through an angry sound. “Help, he’s bleeding out!”

“Dree!”

At hearing Cas’ voice, Gadreel seems to succumb and he sinks to his knees, panting hard. Cas tears his coat off, pressing it to Gadreel’s bleeding gut. His eyes are rolling wildly, trying to focus on Dean or Cas, he can’t tell and all he can do is hope that gut wound isn’t as bad as it looks. Dean slams his sword hilt against the lock, until it breaks, all the while acutely aware of the sound of wolves trying to tear each other’s throat out down the tunnel. The door swings open, Meg stumbling forward into his arms.

“Oh, hellfire, Winchester, never in my life did I expect I’d be happy to see you.”

Sinking to his knees, he cradles her to his chest, looking around for clothing and drags a large cloak over, wrapping it around her. “Right back at you, Masters. I sincerely hope you’re done wandering on your own.”

She chuckles deeply, her dark eyes tearing up. “Kinda rich coming from you, isn’t it?”

“You have no fucking idea.” He presses his cheek to hers to soothe her, not second-guessing it for one moment. She coughs gently, palming at his cheek, while she lets out a sigh. “Kaia, darling, come here,” she whispers.

With a little whimper, Kaia comes crawling out from under the dry grass, eyes wild with terror. She crawls into Meg’s lap, wrapping her arms around both of them and begins crying.

“Cassie,” Gadreel pants, finally returning to some semblance of coherence. His hand lands on Kaia’s back to soothe her on instinct. “No… no time. Alastair escaped through there with Claire.”

He points up at a hole in the ceiling of the cave, providing a glimpse of the stars above. Cas looks at him and Dean nods, letting go of Meg and Kaia. The cub immediately lets out panicked whines and intuitively, both Dean and Cas reach out to mark her. Cas’ Omega scent becomes heavier on the air, providing some mild relief for all of them.

Jack takes over from Cas. “I’ll take care of him.”

In unison, they move towards the cages underneath the hole and start climbing. Dean takes the lead.

“Hurry up!” Meg yells, when the sounds of the fight down the tunnel closes in on them. “Kaia, sweetie, hide with Jack and Gadreel. Help Jack. Put your paws here and push real hard, okay?”

He recognizes the sound of Lucifer, scraping through the dark, claws screeching over the rock. It’s stilted though, as if he’s being held back.

Closing the cage door, Meg grabs a sword and starts towards the other end of the cave. “I’ll release the rest of us! We’ll hold him off! Go!”

“Meg!” Castiel yells.

“Go, Clarence! We’re not done!”

Dean appreciates her focus, despite the state she’s in. He looks up at the hole, the chasm between him and it slightly bigger than he’d like it to be. No time. He can smell Alastair. And strangely…

“Baby?”

There’s an answering whinny on the other end and her outline appears, blotting out the stars. He laughs, a desperate, manic sound, while he looks back at Cas. “You brought Baby?!”

“She brought herself,” Cas grumbles. “Kinda like you, in that respect. Goes where she wants.”

He scoffs in amusement and takes a few unbalanced steps backwards on the cage bars, runs, leaps and pushes off the side of the cave. He barely manages, but makes it, grabbing onto the thick soil, digging his fingers in as deep as they go. It’s a precarious hold, which leaves his lower body dangling heavily.

He calls up what reserves he has left - which is to say none - and hoists himself up. The outraged roar that fills the cave below has him scrambling on his knees, leaning back in, arm extended.

“Cas!”

Lucifer breaks free of the shifters clutching onto him, the light of his red eyes bouncing off the surroundings eerily, focused solely on Castiel. Dean can feel the heat of it and senses Castiel freeze on top of the cage, like prey caught in its predator’s gaze.

“Fucking hell, Cas! No! **Move!”**

Castiel jolts as if lightning strikes him and gets moving, taking the same steps back Dean had. Lucifer’s running at him on all fours, all bulging limbs and cruel intent, dead-set on catching Cas, the ground shaking, and he leaps when Cas jumps.

For a soul-crushing moment, Lucifer’s massive claws line up on either side of Cas, about to clamp down on him, but then he feels Cas’ hand in his and he pulls him up with everything he has. He wraps his arms around him, rolling them out of reach. The frustrated howl that follows when their pack catches up to Lucifer chills his blood in his veins.

“Move,” he snarls. “Move, move, move! On Baby!”

Snorting, Baby thunders through the darkened forest, Dean relying entirely on their bond, that she will not send them and their chances of getting to Claire in time tumbling. Her muscles flex, her flanks heave under his legs while Cas presses into him from behind. Their scents are mingling in the worst possible way and Dean swallows the bile that bubbles up. Pain, fear, desperation. But somewhere, babbling below it all, relief.

Their pack is largely alive, though they have not accounted for everyone. Not yet.

Alastair’s scent is still on the air, lurching them forward like a twisted lure just out of reach. Every time Baby seems to slow down, because she adjusts to the terrain, jumps a fallen tree or swerves around a hole, Cas’ arms press into him. His ribs hurt under the pressure of his strength. In fact, there’s a lot that fucking hurts right now. But they’re not done. There is no time for reassurance, other than to will it through his scent. With a wry smile, he registers Cas doing the same. Two Alphas. And somehow, an Omega. Go figure.

At some point, when they hit familiar territory towards Elysium, Cas almost snarls orders, changing their direction, which Dean follows blindly. His wolf has but one objective.

Claire.

He cannot think beyond getting her back. They take a jerky turn onto a dirt road and he inhales, the wind offering up the forests, the animals, the night and a shard of Claire’s high frequency fear that cuts through him.

“We’re closer. She’s conscious,” Cas says. 

He shivers against his back and coils his muscles in preparation for what is ahead.

What is ahead… is a rider moving _towards_ them, almost barreling into Baby. Both horses rear up, whinnying, and its rider slips past them in the chaos, turning their horse. Dean smells the blood and hears the injury in the voice when they speak. Outlined against the light of the moon, he sees the arrows sticking out of his back.

“Cassie… Is that you?”

“Who the hell…?”

The horses chuff and nose at each other, once they move parallel and he gives them no time to adjust or catch up. “Take her, they’re on my tail.”

Dean zones in on the squirming bundle that is thrust across the small distance into Castiel’s arms and Claire’s scent hits him like a brick. 

Castiel’s voice sounds thick with an old, broken feeling. “Gabriel, what have you done?”

“There’s no way I would not recognize the scent of your cub, Cassie.”

Dean hears the rustling of wolves moving through the grass and none of them smell like kin or friendly. “They shifted. Move,” Gabriel snarls. 

The sound of hooves follows and Dean slides off Baby, turning towards the scent and noise of the enemy. “He’s right, Cas. Go.”

“So you’re the baby daddy?”

Dean’s completely thrown by Gabriel’s vibe, chancing a glance at Castiel’s brother. Clever eyes, visibly miserable, and still. 

“Long story,” he says, winking. “Thanks for getting her back to us.”

From the forest, his own cavalry is catching up, their howls cutting through the night. He shivers when Lucifer’s broken howl echoes through it, a promise of hunting intent in his timbre. He wonders how in any of the seven levels of hell they’ll succeed at taking him down.

Dean looks to where Cas is staring, eyes wide with fear, Claire clutched to his chest, Baby snorting out billowy breaths. Behind him, their pack - or at least those who are capable of running and fighting - emerges from the trees. Sam and Eileen, muzzles bloody, Eileen limping. He spots a wolf with dark reddish fur, which has to be Meg, and behind her Lee, holding up Bobby.

The massive black wolf that is Amara comes running towards them, her paws thudding on the soil loudly. For the first time, Dean can actually see her and how she interacts with the surroundings. She is like a void moving through the night, pulling all that is to her like she can swallow it whole. Her eyes glitter when they skid over Dean to Cas to Gabriel. 

An arrow whizzes past and Dean jumps towards Baby, half a mind to send her running, but Cas grabs his wrist when he’s about to slap her rear.

He can sense Cas is torn between joining the fight and escaping with Claire - but where to really at this point? When they touch, there’s the briefest moment of respite. A breather while he presses his face to Cas’ thigh and inhales. Claire’s hand on his cheek. He becomes acutely aware of their bond, a thread humming soothing vibrations between and through them. 

Cas looks down at him, eyes wide and blazing, squeezing on his hand and he understands. His vision flares red, then golden, as if he’s partly seeing through Cas’ eyes and then Dean’s starting to pick up more threads, like the silken spirals in a web, endlessly weaving together. He’s singling them all out, connecting them. Every member of his pack, some knit closer than others.

Another arrow flies and it takes Amara in the flank. The snarl she lets out is so loud Dean has to cover his ears and it spurs him back into action.

“Amara,” he bellows, running towards her while he shifts back to his wolf form. “The Elysians on horseback!”

Amara roars, takes off running straight for the Elysians, and attacks. The sight of their former Alpha tearing into one of them sends them into disarray, their horses rearing and kicking. Cas draws his sword and rides after her, picking them off, his sword flashing crimson, Claire burrowed into him.

Dean feels for Sam and finds the clarity he needs. Alastair is trying to vanish between the Elysians, but Dean zones in on him, charging ahead, his brother and Eileen in hot pursuit. Sam’s right behind him and Dean careens to the left, so he takes the lead. Alastair’s foregone fighting and shifted, fleeing like the coward Dean’s always known him to be. He gets close enough to snap at his heels, forcing him to speed up. 

Dean yips at Sam when he jumps, his brother’s larger wolf form looming over him when he does the same and kicks off of Dean’s frame, catapulting himself up and over into Alastair. It’s a trick they used as cubs, first for play, then a genuine tactic for hunting. Next to him, Dean smells and feels the rush of Eileen, everything about her steeped in revenge.

They don’t need all three of them to tear him apart.

But they do.

Castiel sees the three of them descend on Alastair and wants to turn Baby around, so Claire doesn’t have to. It’s a stupid notion, considering the carnage going on around them and where she has been for the past several days. That and it’s hard not to hear Alastair’s screaming through the sound of flesh being torn asunder. 

So he looks at her face, wondering what he’ll find. She’s wide-eyed, her nostrils flaring, her tiny teeth bared. A sharp, vicious little snarl rips out of her, while she trembles with relief. Her fingers dig into his flanks, the nails coming out.

“He did it,” she says, looking up at Castiel. “Dean got him. And you found us.”

He nods, pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head while he looks around. The Elysians are scattering and running. The party they sent after Gabriel clearly hadn’t counted on Amara or the Nomads’ ferocity, even when most of them are nearly falling apart. Amara howls after them, an order in her timbre, before she returns, shifting to her human form. Her outfit is torn in several places, patches of blood darkening the leather. She rips the arrow out of her flank, muttering something slow on her breath, black tendrils erupting between her fingers.

Dean, Sam and Eileen give brief chase after the Elysians, before doubling-back. Dean changes back to his human form, stumbling slightly, and Castiel’s heart almost gives out upon seeing the havoc that was wrecked on his body.

“Where’s Lucifer?” he barks.

“Running.” 

Castiel points to where the Elysians are fleeing. In the moonlight, he’s not surprised to find the large, biped form of Lucifer following them. Whether to hunt or join them at this stage, who knows.

“Hellfire,” Dean hisses. He winces, moving gingerly, while he tracks his gaze over their assembling pack. “Do we have everyone?”

Castiel joins in the headcount. “Jack, Gadreel and Kaia are still below.”

“Gadreel?” Lee asks. “He’s okay?”

Dean walks up to Lee and Bobby, greeting them with a scent-mark and the urge to check how they’re doing.

“Gadreel’s hurt,” Castiel says. “We need to move on The Bunker.”

“A hot minute,” Bobby snarls, batting away Dean’s hands. “What’s going on here?”

“John is attacking Azazel to take back The Bunker.”

“It’s about fucking time. I ain’t in any shape to help you. We’ll go get the others out of the damn hole. Do you want to leave Claire with us?”

Claire yelps and wraps her arms around Castiel’s neck, mewling sadly and shaking her head. He wishes he had the time to explain, but realizes who else is still down in the caves.

“Claire, my heart,” he says. “Kaia is down there with Gadreel. And Dree’s hurt.”

She whimpers, her little body shaking in his arms. “Wh… Where? Down with him?”

“He’s gone,” Castiel says. “He ran away.”

Claire emerges from his neck, dirty face tear-streaked. “Kaia’s still in the dark? Dree and Jack?”

“They are. Will you help Bobby get them back?”

Her jaw setting stubbornly, she nods and starts slipping out of his arms, off of Baby, into Dean’s. His heart swells when she hugs and marks him, before she squirms further out of reach, running up to Bobby.

“If you like,” Amara says, “I can stay with them. There are a fair amount of warriors where you are going and with Lucifer out here, it might be better if I stay with your wounded.”

“Most of us are, to be fair,” Dean says. “But thank you. I’ll leave Baby with you, so help carry people.” She whinnies at Dean. “Don’t give me that, Baby, you’re staying.” 

Castiel’s quite pleased she’s generally a stubborn shit to Dean too. He gets off Baby, handing the reins to Amara.

_“We’re coming with you,”_ Eileen says.

“You look a right mess,” Dean grumbles.

Her and Sam are naked, shivering in the chilly night air. Castiel and Lee share a similar instinct, it seems, when he unclasps his armor and takes off his shirt, handing it to Sam, while Lee sheds his and gives it to Eileen.

_“Because I am a right mess,”_ she snaps, her gestures clipped and sassy while she pulls the shirt over her head. _“And no more or less a mess than you. I want to see him taken down, Dean. I want to know.”_

Which is when the scent of grief hits Castiel and he looks at Sam, shaking from his core out at the sudden, deep sense of loss. Only now does he notice the glaring, angry scar low on Eileen’s belly that has his gut twisting in agony. Sam’s eyes tear up, but he shakes his head, and Castiel swallows, willing himself to keep control of his emotions. His Omega howls gently and exudes a sense of loving comfort. Dean clears his throat, clearly resisting the urge to hug Eileen, because they both know as soon as that happens, something might break.

Amara gestures smoothly with one hand, tendrils of black smoke pooling around Sam and Eileen. She curses, lifting her bare feet one by one.

_“What is this sorcery?”_

“Exactly that,” Amara says. “Magic. It’ll prevent you from losing what little clothes you now have next time you shift.”

“Thank you,” Sam signs, a barely there smile.

“Alright. We push on. Shift and run,” Dean says.

In his wolf form, it is hard to ignore the sense of home that’s thrumming through the silken threads that connect them.

When they get to The Bunker, the scent of smoke, burning flesh and blood meets them. Expecting the worst, they find Mary barking orders at a bunch of shifters to restore order and clean up. There are bodies scattered around The Bunker. Smoke tendrils waft up in various places, some from the forest, others from The Bunker itself.

Dean stumbles out of his wolf form, coming to a rickety halt not far from her. “Mom!”

Sam follows suit.

“My boys,” she says, opening her arms.

Her smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. Both of them step into an arm, hugging her close.

“How bad is it?”

“We’re alright now. The bastard’s dead. I got him. Jody... But we still have to take stock of our losses…”

John appears from The Bunker’s entrance. He walks up to them, a distinct limp to his gait. There’s a nasty gash near his temple, that’s bleeding darkly, soaking his leathers at the neck. Though his eyes are deeply sad, he smiles, wrapping his arms around the three of them.


	31. Let It Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny gives it exactly zero heartbeats and kicks Dean’s legs out from under him, hand closing over his throat as he slams him down to the ground. Seeing red, he lets out a roar that hurts his own head as he goes down. The air is expelled from his lungs violently and he instinctively fights back, when he hears Cas’ panicked voice. His body’s burning up under the strain and it fuels him. He grins when he manages to pry Benny’s hand off his chest.
> 
> “Castiel, he’s too strong!”
> 
> “Shit, the drugs,” Cas curses, throwing his weight into the conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied rape (not between Dean and Cas), Cas' Alpha rut gets triggered though, minor character deaths mentioned, and uh, surprise pairing Sam/Eileen/Gabe (no smut obvy) but these three snuck up on me!
> 
> This chapter and the following two all have titles from the song that gave this story its title, Nomad By Fate.

Dean is trying to wrap his head around the chaos. It might be proving more difficult, because he’s so fucking warm, he can’t think straight. He’s sweating up a storm, which already made him chuck the armor. His body wants to cave under the strain of the past days, but he needs to know his whole pack is accounted for before he allows this.

The Bunker is overflowing, which makes the air run hot too. Too many shifters, too many emotions, too many pheromones all but splattered across every surface. He knows they all need to be here. They are trying to restore some form of order under his Mom’s iron-willed guidance. 

The main room is turned into a hospital, make-shift beds everywhere for the wounded. Dean ensures there are extra beds in his old room too, because he knows their pack is inbound.

Crowley is among the wounded, being fussed over by Rowena, much to his dismay. 

“Woman, I will be fine!”

“I lost your father in the war, I don’t need to lose a son!”

Bartholomew died in the fight, but April survived and is being held in custody, alongside Anna and other loyalists. He learns the sadness in his father’s eyes stems from losing Jody, her body among those that will be burned later today. Mary was able to land the killing blow on Azazel, thanks to her. Bile rises at the realization of the loss, but he can’t. Not yet.

His attention is drawn by a familiar face. Garth is alive and running around, keeping track of medicinal logistics, while still looking like he just ripped someone’s throat out.

“Oh, you made it!” Garth smiles at Dean and hugs him, which hurts in several ways, but he pats Garth on the back, because how can he not? He leans into him, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, when Garth’s trust bleeds through. “I knew you would.”

“I did,” he says. “How’s your family?”

“My wife and kids are good, though one of the little ones burst into his wolf form under the stress of it all. I still need to check in with my parents...”

Dean laughs and winces as he does, sensing Cas hovering nearby instantly. “I hope they’re okay…”

“Prices to pay come in many forms,” Garth says cryptically. “I’d better get back to work. We have a lot of wounded.”

Before Cas can ask the question Dean smells on him, Dorothy throws herself at him.

“Winchester! You’re alive! Please tell me you brought Charlie.”

She hugs and punches him in the arm in rapid succession, when she realizes Charlie isn’t with them. Cas glares at her, a rumble picking up low in his chest.

“Charlie’s with my grandma, Doro, she’s fine.”

“Ease up, Alpha,” she apologizes to Cas. 

Cas looks taken aback at the ease with which she uses the moniker on him. “Dean’s in need of medical attention, though he believes he’s fine. It would help if you don’t add any more punches.”

“True… Sorry, I didn’t realize he was in such a state. So I guess you didn’t do anything stupid, huh?”

When Dean laughs at that, Cas actually snorts, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“What can I say?” Dean grins. “Got the job done, right?”

He thinks he might be regretting some of it, though he won’t admit to that out loud. The way Cas’ fingers find their way into his hair though, he’s starting to enjoy the feeling of someone fussing over him. Of Cas’ caring, permeating their scent.

“Let him take care of you, Dean.” 

Dorothy kisses his cheek and heads outside to help. They’re collecting the dead, John keeping close track of all of Lucifer’s soldiers to ensure they get cut up and burned. Just in case. He hates that the soil so close to home is getting steeped in more blood.

Dean exhales in relief when finally by sunrise, as promised, Amara arrives with their wounded and Baby in tow. He sees the shine of her sweaty, black coat, carrying everyone’s possessions they lost along the way. Claire bursts past Amara, bypassing everyone, to jump straight into Cas’ arms, one hand reaching for Dean.

Dean wraps his arms around them both, breathing in deep, when Claire’s purr comes through. Cas’ scent spikes with something so intense, it momentarily has Dean staggering on his feet, while it holds the other fragrances at bay. He allows it to soothe him for the few heartbeats of reprieve they are given, before the others start pouring in, needing help.

Lee is carrying in Gadreel with Jack’s help.

“How is he?” Castiel asks. “How are you?”

He touches a hand to Gadreel’s forehead, then Jack’s cheek. Lee’s face contorts and he nudges his nose against Gadreel’s temple gently. “I don’t know. Who’s your best nurse?”

Dean thumbs into the main room. “Karen. Or Rowena? Though maybe don’t call her that.”

“Where is Kaia?”

“Meg’s got her,” Lee says, gesturing with his chin over his shoulder at who’s yet to trickle inside. “She’s been good with the cubs. Woman’s got an iron grip on them somehow. We found Becky too... Equally hard as nails.”

Lee and Jack head back to the living room, in search of help. 

Wordlessly connecting with Dean, Sam carries Eileen inside and puts her on the bed, sitting down on the corner of the mattress. She stirs and pushes her face into his flank.

Following closely behind them, Amara brings in Gabriel and helps him into the bed, though he’s fussing and protesting. “Auntie, it’s just a few arrows.”

“Park your ass, Gabriel. You were reckless.”

Quite pale and bleeding profusely, Gabriel eyes his surroundings with a strange twinkle in his eyes. There’s a touch of madness to them, which Dean hopes is not proof of an underlying condition. Gabriel scoffs, trying to squirm out of Amara’s grip, and the tendons in her arms stand out when she holds him in place until he’s fully settled.

“Oh, please,” he winces. “There’s no way I was ever going back to that damned cell. And I knew you were missing.”

“I wasn’t missing,” Amara says. “I ran.”

Amara runs her fingers through Gabriel’s hair, which seems to reduce him to a bemused silence. Eileen and Sam regard the mouthy Elysian with curiosity, Gabriel’s scent doing something strange, when he senses it. He looks at them in turn. Seeming confused, Gabriel blinks and a softness ripples across his features, his eyes flashing red for such a brief moment, Dean thinks he may have imagined it.

“A cell?” Cas asks, adjusting Claire in his arms.

Dean reaches over and gently tucks some hair out of Claire’s face. She’s out cold, but even in sleep she noses into his wrist, pulling a sigh from him.

“Dear ol’ Luci,” Gabriel says, snapping back to attention. Dean gets the feeling Gabriel’s waters run far deeper than he lets on. “Once he figured out I helped you escape and was on Amara’s side… He had Michael make me disappear.”

Rowena comes barging inside and zones in on Eileen and Gabriel. “I hear there are wounded here as well?”

Cas turns to her. “Did you tend to Gadreel?”

“The strong-jawed one with his beta fawning all over him? Karen is seeing to him and Bobby.”

“Dree’s alright?” Gabriel asks. “You’re all alive?”

“Hopefully,” Castiel says. 

He walks over to the bed, laying Claire down. She whimpers softly and follows her nose to Gabriel, where she settles in against his leg, throwing an arm and a leg over. Castiel studies Gabriel’s face.

“Made you disappear… How?”

“I’m known for my wiley ways, right?” Gabriel smiles, but his face softens as his eyes fall to Claire. “He just made them think I was traveling… off on some grand adventure, while he kept me…”

His voice cuts off and he stares down at his hands, brow knit. There are deep, purple marks on his wrists, which he now tries to cover up. Eileen’s dark eyes track his movement and she instinctively reaches across the distance. Gabriel doesn’t seem to fully notice and just curls his fingers into her hand. 

“ _Sam_?”

Dean knows his brother and Eileen need few words to communicate. Something passes between them, and it’s important, when Sam takes her other hand, wrapping an arm around her when she tilts her head up, conveying whatever it is with the look on her face. Always intrigued at the ease with which they interact Dean watches as Sam leans across Eileen towards Gabriel and inhales.

“Huh,” is all that follows, when Sam’s brow knits in that typically analytic way.

Gabriel smirks through a painful wince, when Rowena removes the arrow head from his back. “‘Huh’ to you two lovebirds as well. See anything you like?”

The way Eileen’s eyebrow quirks up has both Sam and Gabriel stunned to silence.

Dean barks a surprised laugh, a welcome moment of relief. When Cas looks at him in question, he juts his chin out at the scene, glee oozing off his tone. 

“See what’s happening there?”

Cas turns his attention to the three shifters on the bed and his face does funny, adorable things.

“Oh, Lord…” he sighs wearily.

“It’s awesome,” Dean smiles.

“That’s one way of describing it.” Cas exhales roughly through his nose, crossing his arms in front of his chest, turning his considerable attention on him. “How are you feeling, Dean?”

Hell-bent on lying, Dean opens his mouth, but the flicker in Cas’ eyes under that cocked eyebrow tells him that is a Very Bad Idea. “Try me, pup.”

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, Dean sighs. 

“I’m miserable, okay,” he says, rocking back on his heels, avoiding Cas’ gaze. “But I wanna make sure everyone’s back, all members accounted for.”

“You’re sweating like crazy and your hands are shaking…”

“No, they’re not,” he protests, hiding them under his arms, pressed to his ribs. 

“Dean, you were drugged. You need to…”

They turn when they hear a commotion outside. Cas curses, but follows suit when Dean heads to the main room to see Benny arrive. He’s a sight for sore eyes, albeit an extremely messy one. He always was a dirty fighter.

“Dean, cher!”

“Benny! Where were you?”

“Nabbing the runners. Azazel’s and Elysium’s from the looks of it. One survivor of each. But that, uhh, commander you mentioned got away.” He sounds thoroughly upset about it.

“Michael… Of course.” Cas’ eyebrows shoot up. “That’s horrifically efficient of you.”

Benny winks and walks up to them, wrapping Dean up in his arms without restraint. It’s all kinds of warm and smelly, cause hellfire, Benny clearly went for the gut and throat every chance he got. For a moment, Dean lets his eyes fall shut and sighs. He found everyone back. Everyone’s back. Or at least safe.

He’s done.

He feels the tug at his neck and mumbles in protest, until he realizes it’s Cas. Cas’ fingers are at his lower back, snug behind the waistband of his pants, and slowly but surely pulling him out of Benny’s embrace.

“Cas, what?”

Wordlessly, Cas makes eye contact with Benny and extends a hand to him. “Welcome back, Benny.”

Benny’s eyes sparkle while he clasps his big hand around Cas’. Dean scoffs, tilting his hip at the strange display, gesturing from Benny to Cas, wagging his eyebrows on a quick, teasing smile.

“You two have met before, right? Or was I not there for that?”

“We have, cher, but it’s been a few odd days without you.”

Benny plays along with Dean’s bluster. It’s soft in its intent, Dean thinks, oozing confidence and warmth, but he’s feeling strange. Too warm. And Cas is being weird about it, a greedy impatience leaking through their bond, Dean doesn’t understand. He rolls his eyes, sighing. 

“In case it wasn’t freakishly obvious yet, maybe I should say it out loud. Cas is now my Mate, who apparently comes with a possessive streak I was unaware of.”

“Really? You have not been paying attention then,” Benny laughs.

Dean notices they haven’t let go of each other’s hand and are for all intents and purposes locked in a stalemate. He stares from one to the other, scratching at his arms. He’s so hellishly uncomfortable with all of this and swipes his hands down either side of his neck. They come back soaking wet.

“Seriously, Cas?” he asks, snappier than he intends it.

Cas turns innocent eyes on him, and oh, Dean did not know his face could pull that trick. “Cut an old man some slack. It’s been a few days.”

“Oh, now you’ll draw the silver fox card?”

“Wait, I’m going grey?”

Benny grins roguishly at Cas, then Dean. “You’re downright nightmare fuel right now, cher. Shouldn’t you be lying down?”

“That,” Cas says emphatically, looking at Dean. “That’s what I said.”

“I swear, if either of you so much as thinks of accusing me of Alphatude one more time after this little display, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Cas’ nostrils flare, his pupils blown wide, and what in hellfire provoked that? “Is that a promise or a threat?”

Abruptly Benny lets go of Cas, taking on a completely different stance, which seems to set something off.

“Why don’t you fucking find out, Cas?”

Dean’s vision flashes red and his system is flooded with fury as he snarls, claws out, his Alpha suddenly, intensely out of control.

“Dean!”

Benny gives it exactly zero heartbeats and kicks Dean’s legs out from under him, hand closing over his throat as he slams him down to the ground. Seeing red, he lets out a roar that hurts his own head as he goes down. The air is expelled from his lungs violently and he instinctively fights back, when he hears Cas’ panicked voice. His body’s burning up under the strain and it fuels him. He grins when he manages to pry Benny’s hand off his chest.

“Castiel, he’s too strong!”

“Shit, the drugs,” Cas curses, throwing his weight into the conflict.

Dean is dimly aware of Sam having to join the fray, before they succeed at holding him down, his grip on himself slipping out of his grasp.

He passes out under their combined weight.

Castiel mentally goes over the list of necessities. They have food and drinks on the table. Paper and ink. Spare clothes and blankets. A wide array of natural remedies, provided by Karen and Rowena, for what lies ahead. Candles, one of which is burning on each night stand and the table. Both Dean's birds are here, though for the life of him, he can't tell them apart. He looks to the barred windows. It’s dark outside, but he can see the stars. Currently The Fort is a quieter place than The Bunker and the safest place for Dean to get through his drug-induced rut.

He lets his gaze slide to the whimpering, feverish form of Dean next to him, lying on his stomach, drooling onto the pillow. The fact that he thinks it’s adorable is best kept to himself. Reassuring too, that Dean’s still capable of doing so, given the current circumstances. He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for a while and Castiel has been waiting for him to emerge. 

They patched him up as best they could. Jack told him Dean used his voice on himself prior to the fight with Lucifer and he’s been piecing it together since. How far Dean pushed himself. For him and Claire. For all of them. Heartwarming and infuriating all at once, but that seems to be their dynamic. Part of it, because they are so much more.

Dean’s scent is tainted. Not in the sense that it puts him off, but in the sense that he has half a mind to go hunt down Lucifer. In fact, Benny’s out there doing exactly that, but Castiel has no illusions there. Lucifer will likely stay ahead of them. The list of reasons he should be there is endless. 

There’s only one reason keeping him right where he is. Where he belongs.

On cue, Dean’s broken voice cuts through the silence.

“Cas, you’re so warm…”

Dean grabs at him, hands sliding over his thigh to the inside. Castiel twitches into the touch, moving so he rolls towards Dean, a hint of his Alpha strength kicking in. He experiences a delicious, fearful swirl of desire at the feel of it, his Omega lapping at the idea eagerly.

“Funny,” he murmurs, hoping this isn’t going to go all kinds of wrong in the coming days.

“Is it?”

“You feel cool to the touch. Like water at the perfect temperature. Usually. A bit less so now, because you’re running a fever.”

He allows himself a small smile, as he places his hand to Dean’s forehead. Hazy eyes travel up to the gesture and Dean goes cross-eyed for a moment.

“I am?” Dean’s face ripples in slight confusion and soft abandon. He smiles at Castiel, clearly not all here. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Me neither.”

“I also don’t care. Cas, give me…”

“Yes,” he whispers.

Castiel leans in, capturing Dean’s lips, wanting to kiss, lick and bite the urgency out of his scent.

They’re asleep, a day and a night into Dean’s rut, when it hits. Castiel’s wrapped protectively around Dean, when an overwhelming desire, painful in its intensity, shoots up his spine, lighting up his brain the worst possible way. Instantly his vision flashes red.

He curls in on himself when that old, unfamiliar-but-so-achingly-familiar feeling jolts him out of his sleep violently. The thrumming ache coursing through him, he lets out a string of curses to various deities that has Dean blearily echoing some of them in wonder when he too is roused from his slumber.

“ _Babd’s Curse_ , that was impressive, Cas. What’s wrong?”

“What do you think?” 

He all but snarls at Dean, while he crawls up, landing on all fours over Dean, trying to shake it off. As if that’ll work. Dean looks at him through hazy eyes and sniffs the air. Castiel can’t help but appreciate the way his expression shifts into pure delight, his body opening up to him.

“Oh.” His lips curve in that beautiful shape of a smile and he pulls at Castiel, reaching out a hand to touch his face. “ _Oh_! Cas, this is good, right?!”

“ _Oh, no_ ,” Castiel bites when a violent surge of desire wracks through his frame, “Is the sentiment you’re looking for.”

“Like Hell it is!” Dean grins wide. Castiel can almost see the wild ideas forming in his mate’s mind, but he’s still drug-addled. Hardly sound of mind. And prone to debatable ideas, even when he is. “It means you’ll stop holding out on me. It means your body’s recovering! Cas, this is a good thing.”

“Dean, you don’t understand,” he moans, when his Alpha rears up without restraint at having such a willing lover at his disposal. He brings in his wake a slew of emotions he’s _afraid_ of. Genuine, primal fear at the raw desire that’s capable of ripping to shreds what he loves most. “You’re the one who needs to recover. I haven’t… gone through a rut since… since they changed me. I don’t know…” 

Castiel heaves, trying to breathe deep and fails, his head swimming while hormones flood his system and Dean’s flavor hits his tongue, forcibly going down his throat, because his Alpha’s greedy. Dangerously greedy and wanting to make up for lost time. 

“I don’t know if I can control him.”

His eyes go wide and his vision whites out, to be flooded with scarlet like he’s drowning in blood, when his Alpha breaks loose. There follows a stilted moment when he becomes aware of the different parts of himself, his Alpha and Omega, free and conscious at the same time. One born, one forced, yet both part of him. He’s learned that much, hidden beneath all the anger and relentless focus on revenge. His Omega is as much part of him as his Alpha is, before he was locked away.

His chest expands, his Alpha finally able to take up space. A seemingly endless whine forces its way out of his throat and he goes under in a sea of red as it turns into a deep, guttural snarl. 

It echoes Lucifer’s.

Dean experiences genuine dread, when he sees Cas’ features contort, his eyes flashing red like Lucifer’s. His large hands grab hold of Dean roughly and he resists, when the energy in the air shifts and warps, everything escalating out of control.

Cas’ voice still sounds like his own, even as he surges forward and licks at Dean’s neck. “Dean… Dean, fight back, you’ve triggered my rut and I…”

He tries, but hellfire, Cas is strong and he’s on near-permanent painkillers. His body and mind feel sluggish, though the adrenaline coursing through him is all too real. One hand closes over his throat, another roughly feeling him up. Closing his eyes against it, Dean resists, but can’t catch up, he can’t fight him off… His mind bodily hurts, flashes of Alastair forcing themselves to the forefront. His voice breaks. “I can’t… Cas… Cas! Please stop, you will never live this down.”

He manages to get a hold of Cas’ wrist, their arms trembling in a stalemate. Dean pants hard when they make eye contact, searching for Cas, his Cas, through the red haze of Lucifer’s eyes, Alastair’s cruel smile and the pain of his own abnormal rut. There’s not a speck of blue left in those normally hauntingly beautiful eyes and it’s terrifying enough, tears are running down his cheeks.

He snarls desperately, hoping he can get through to Cas before he does something he’ll never forgive himself for. “You know I’ll submit to you either way, Cas. Cas, please, you know I will!”

Cas is breathing hard, fangs grazing dangerously over his mating gland, before he crowds Dean’s vision. Suddenly there’s a gold swirl bleeding through them and Dean whines through his sobs, when it vanishes and Cas’ hand closes around his throat harder. He bucks his hips, trying to throw him off. Cas growls menacingly, while he forces his knees apart and sinks down on him, their faces an inch apart. Licking a warm trail up his neck, Cas bites down on him and Dean fights him with every life-threateningly intense heartbeat he has in him, every ounce of strength his body can muster up. This is going to hell fast, because his own Alpha’s in his rut and fuming at the perceived threat.

“Cas,” he pleads desperately. “Either make love to me or break the bond.”

Roaring as if Dean is physically hurting him instead of the other way around, Cas’ face reappears and he tightens his grip on his hair. His pupils go from near black holes to pin pricks, fear blazing a scorched earth trail through Cas’ scent. Dean throws everything he can think of at him, speaking fast and low.

“I promised I’d do better by you. I failed. They took Claire. Hurt Jack. And you. Almost lost our pack. I used my voice. Cas, Cas, please… If I crossed a hard line anywhere, then this is it. Hellfire, Cas, don’t…”

Breathing hard through his nose, Cas tilts his head, brow furrowed. He sniffs at him, lips parted over the pulsing vein in Dean’s neck, while he pants around the scent of fear and hope. Dean isn’t sure which is whose and for a terrifying moment, he feels those fangs, fears Cas might force a bite.

“You know I’ll submit,” he repeats, voice hoarse. “You know, but not like this. Not like this. Not again. Break it.”

He gets jostled around roughly, pain shooting through his tiring limbs. Cas’ eyes flit between red and golden at an epileptic pace, sending Dean’s vision swirling along as if hypnotized.

“Not again?”

Cas blinks hard and his face contorts in pain and regret. His eyebrows droop, while he looks to the heavens, lips quivering, before he drops his forehead to Dean’s clavicle. His breathing spikes, but the tension goes out of his muscles somewhat. His voice is strained when he speaks, breath warm but gentler against Dean’s skin.

“Not again?”

Dean shivers and closes his eyes, wishing the tears would stop, trying not to get lost in those horrific memories, as scattered and incomplete as they are. He remembers what was done to him. His body remembers. And Morrigan, his chest heaves, trying to dispel the hurt of it. The shame and guilt. Cas' hands frame his face, running fingers through his hair, and he opens his eyes once more.

“You did not fail any of us, Dean. If anything, I failed you.”

Their breaths are the only sounds in the room for a few intense, disbelieving heartbeats. Dean lets out a shaky breath, when Cas’ eyes settle down into swirling pools of pink gold. Soft enough to mesmerize, hard enough to burn. He whimpers at the sight, the knots in his chest easing up, his muscles relaxing.

“Cas…”

Cas presses a kiss to his brow, holding the contact, mumbling apologies endlessly. “Dean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay. Hell, you’re okay, it’s all fine.”

“It isn’t…”

They rush, words tumbling over one another, as they press closer together. Dean huffs through a desperate sound. _“Morrigan help me,_ I’m lost on you, Cas. You are gorgeous… so perfectly whole. You saved all of us. In more ways than one.”

He rakes his fingers through Cas’ hair, watching the way the light flirts with the blue hue in the soft strands, choosing to focus on all that’s beautiful about him as much for his sake as Cas’. His mate is trembling above him, the scent of Alpha arousal heavy on the air. He softens his gaze, willing trust to bleed through rather than fear, when Cas’ guilt assaults his senses.

He rubs soft circles to Cas’ cheekbone with his thumb. “Perhaps you should be the one to lead us, hmm? The Alpha and Omega.”

“Only for you, Dean. Stop…” 

Cas growls, visibly uncomfortable at the tender tone of Dean’s voice. Dean hears the sharp intake of breath, preparing to give Dean an earful. Before he can go off on some tangent about being an abomination, Dean cocks his head, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.

“Make me, Cas.” He surges forward, nipping at his lip. “Make. Me.”

A rough breath stutters out of him and the pink gold flashes red for the briefest second, sending a jolt through Dean. It settles back down almost instantly. Anyone else would miss it.

“There is my beautiful soul Alpha,” he smiles. “Now… You say your rut hit?”

Cas puts shaking hands to either side of his face. “What did I do to deserve you, pup?”

“I ask myself the same question, old man. You’re getting sappy and I want to feel you fill me up.”

A snarl, deep and full of promise, is his reward when Cas, his Cas, claims his lips in a fierce kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are people feelin' as we are headed towards the horizon for this fic? Just curious.
> 
> Much love to you,  
> Mal


	32. I Gave My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas snarls, his want and frustration clinging to the back of Dean’s throat, while his scent wafts around him. Desire floods his system and he feels himself getting hard. 
> 
> “Man, you must be a joy to be around,” Dean grins, “The way you’re smelling.”
> 
> “I have half a mind to skin Gadreel, Benny, Charlie and Lee alive.”
> 
> “Do the thing. Well, don’t do that thing. Skinning pack members, bad Alpha,” he whines. “I’m… I can’t focus.”

Dean wakes to the sound of familiar voices, feeling seriously sore all-fucking-over. His mind is relatively clear, despite having been more or less fucked into oblivion. He laughs softly at the pleasant burn tingling through his body. The sun is out. With a groan, he rolls over and lets his arms slide off the bed. His eyes catch on the dark wooden floor. This ain’t his room, but it smells like him and Cas. Intensely. Delectably.

So why are his parents here?

He looks up. Right. The Fort.

“Dean, sweetie.”

“Heya, Mom,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“How are you?”

He tries to fight back the cocky smile, only half succeeding. “Mmmmmhf. Where’s Cas?”

John snorts gently. “He went to go clean himself up. Said you were supposed to be alright for a bit.”

“I am. Just want to know where he is. His rut hit bad.”

“We understood that much. It’s been a few days…”

Cas has been a constant in the past… hours… days, apparently? He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it. Balancing between Cas’ rut and his own is proving a challenge. But Cas is his only constant, besides the burning in his veins and the unsettling experience of feeling his identity slip away from him whenever the effects of the drugs kick in. 

Cas is his beacon to return to each and every time, when he comes back out of the fire, somehow unscathed.

Mary smiles, wiping his sweaty hair off his forehead, carding her fingers through it like when he was a cub, so it stands on end.

“Are you good for a talk?”

He nods, rolling over and dragging a blanket along, tucking it loosely around him. His instincts steer him towards the food on the table. “What’s going on?”

He grabs both mugs, sniffing their contents and settles on the water. Once he starts drinking, it’s like he can’t stop, despite the pain, and he gulps its whole contents down, refilling immediately. 

“Well, you’re the new Tribal Alpha,” Mary says. She waves her hand around. “Though I suspect that name might need to change.”

He snorts water up his nose, doubling over to let it fall to the floorboards rather than the table. Mary steps back, while Dean wipes his hand over his mouth, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “I am _what?”_

“I told you he wouldn’t take it well,” John grumbles.

“They what? Who?”

“Sweetie, stuff like this can’t happen without people needing someone to look to.”

“You’re the one who killed Azazel,” Dean protests before gesturing at his father. “And there’s a former Alpha right there, begging to make amends.”

“Agreed,” John says testily. “Though not so much the begging part.”

She shoots his father a look. Similarly, Dean cocks his head, palpably taken aback by the old tendencies that seem to have slipped back into John’s demeanor. His stomach growls angrily, jolting him out of the concern. He tugs a chair back and sits, pulling the food towards him.

A voice drifts over from the door. “I believe that’s the first food you’re eating of your own accord. There is hope for you yet.”

“Cas!” 

He can almost feel his own face light up at seeing his mate, freshly washed, his hair an absolute wet mess. Or dream. Wet patches on his shirt and pants, because of course... Next time he really should join Cas. Dean wants to take him back to bed. But he’s so hungry.

“Focus on your food,” Cas grins, catching on, so smooth it’s like being rubbed down with oil.

There’s an idea.

He stuffs bread and cheese in his mouth, buying himself some time to think, because he’s all over the board and everyone can pick up on it, judging by the exchanged looks between his parents.

Dean got himself elected? He didn’t even know he was in the running. He tries to put himself in the shoes of the shifters, caught in the wake of this conflict, while tending to his body’s more earthly needs.

Exhaling through his nose, he takes in the stuff on the table, from the food to the quill and paper to the vials of natural remedies. He zones in on the peppermint-garlic mix, because his teeth and gums are killing him. His chewing slows down, when the iron taste of blood mixes in. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allows in the sudden, dark memory of chewing through steel.

Cas’ hand falls to his shoulder, warm and soothing. A kiss to the top of his head releases the sweet scent of warm honey and herbs into the room. Hellfire, Cas’ Omega is shameless in their need to tend to Dean and he can’t get enough of it.

“Are we at war with Elysium?”

“Cas, Amara and Sam have been doing everything they can to avoid that,” Mary says.

“Until I got caught up in this,” Cas amends. When Dean shoots him a look, he ducks his head. “In you. It isn’t looking good, but for what it’s worth, the Tribes are aligning once more.”

Dean cocks his head to the side. “Silver linings, I guess? I feel like there are people better equipped to lead them though.”

“That attitude is probably why you got chosen in the first place,” Mary says.

“As in, I dunno, until we recover from this shit? How are the shifters across our lands doing anyway?”

Mary smiles, shooting John a meaningful look. “We’ve had a few visitors from nearby villages and news is spreading of your election. We expect more to come in...”

“You’d be the youngest Tribal Alpha in history,” John interrupts. “It’s too soon.”

He stands and paces, Mary rising too, while she observes him with clever eyes. Dean cranes his neck to look up at Cas, who winks at him - which he’s not very good at, but it’s adorable anyway - and puts his index fingers to his lips. He sinks down on the chair next to Dean’s, leaning in close, his warm hand resting in the back of Dean’s neck. Shoving another chunk of cheese in, Dean noses at Cas’ neck, inhaling, before turning his attention back to his parents.

John gestures at him. “I… This is my doing. Look at you, Dean, it’s a miracle you’re alive. Your focus should be on healing, on recovering from this and… let me...”

Mary clicks her tongue, stepping in John’s path, planting her feet wide. Without a care for tradition or ego, her hand snaps up, grabbing John’s chin and forcing him to look at her.

“Let Dean take the lead, John.”

“Mary…” 

He cups his hands around her elbows in a loving gesture, at the same time somehow trying to get her to move. Dean isn’t sure whether to laugh or panic at his father’s expression, when she remains stalwart. 

“You’ve done enough and you survived,” Mary says, tone gentle but firm. “You’ve trained him and he walked out of your shadow a long time ago. Let him step up.”

John’s face hardens. He’s going for authoritarian. Dean can tell that much by the set of his eyebrows and his shoulders. But he lands somewhere else entirely and Dean isn’t sure if he can identify it, until he hears Cas chuckle lowly beside him.

“That look is familiar.” Cas leans close to Dean’s ear, lips grazing that soft spot behind it. “Maybe it runs in the family?”

Dean’s cheeks flush warm at the realization and he scowls at Cas. “Blow me, Cas.”

“Gladly.”

“Boys…” 

Mary side-eyes them, her human ears almost twitching like a wolf’s would. John’s ears are bright red and he seems to struggle giving himself an attitude, until he throws his hands up in defeat.

“Between these two Alphas and Sam’s budding triad, the Winchester name’s…”

“... paving the way for the future,” Mary adds firmly. “And it’s about time.”

“Sam’s… budding… triad,” Dean echoes slowly.

He looks at Cas, whose eyes are darkening, and lets rip a belly-laugh. “Oh, ho, this is amazing. You mean to say your brother just escaped from Elysium like a bat out of hell, thundered towards us with Claire in his arms, waltzed into The Bunker with arrows sticking out of him every which way, and swept both Sam and Eileen off their feet?”

“I will do anything for you to not ever in a million years repeat those words where Gabe can hear them.”

“To be fair, dearheart,” Mary smiles at Cas. “He did do all those things.”

“I will never deny his accomplishments, though he didn’t waltz,” Cas says, rubbing his forehead. “He’ll be even more impossible to live with now.”

“But he’s alive,” Dean says. “And he’s important to you.”

“He is. He’s also a menace. You’ll learn soon enough.”

John nods, his eyes widening considerably, as if he’s already experienced this first hand. Dean squints at him when his father grins, tapping his fingers on the table playfully. “Mark his words, Dean.”

“You’ll all have plenty of time to catch up and get to know each other. It’s part of being a pack,” Mary says. “Which reminds me. We didn’t just come here to bring you that news. Your father and I are leaving.”

“Where to?” Dean asks, stuffing more food in. “Grandma?”

“Indeed,” John says, clearing his throat with a fond look at his wife. “We’re taking Benny so he can escort the rest of your pack back to The Bunker.”

“Can it handle them?”

“We’ve gotten the wounded back to their homes and dens. Crowley’s still hanging around, complaining, but we suspect he’s actually pleased to be there.”

“Please get him out of there by the time we’re out of our ruts. We are not adopting Crowley into our pack.”

Cas hums, stealing some food off his plate. Perhaps he’s finally eating better, which would be a relief to Dean, judging where they were mere weeks ago. “He and Meg have somehow been bonding. We might have to.”

“He’s always been a pack leader and he’s a dick. We’re _not.”_

The way he’s bristling has Cas chuckling and nodding his mute agreement, the kind of easy-going that seems to come with their mating bond.

John scratches at his scruff idly. “Bobby and Karen are coming with us.”

Dean feels a strange surge of loss, but he sees the packs forming before his mind’s eye. “That sounds like it makes sense.”

Mary laughs softly at his petulant tone. “We’re not that far off. You gathered quite a pack around the two of you, cub. You’ll need the space.”

“Besides they’ve taken a shine to Lee and Dree,” Cas smiles. “They’ll visit.”

“Dree’s okay?” 

Dean perks up considerably at the thought. Last he saw Gadreel, he was out cold and pale as the moon.

“It looked a bit scary for a few days, but yes,” Cas nods. “He’s recovering alright. Lee’s… hovering over him non-stop and I think Dree’s loving it.”

“I’m glad.” It’s an understatement. Knowing where either have been, Dean’s relieved to no end, they both survived. He pushes the plate away, suddenly nauseous. “I think I ate too much.”

“And too fast,” Cas agrees. “I’m sure you’ll learn one day.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Mary smiles.

“Or,” John says, gesturing vaguely at all of Dean and then to the bed. “We have outstayed our welcome.”

“We did?” Mary asks. “Oh…”

Dean groans softly, realizing it isn’t his stomach, but something deeper in his being acting up. Quickly he rises to his feet, gesturing his parents over for a hug. He doesn’t have to chase them out, both of them all too eager to shut the door on them.

He tilts his head back, the sheet falling away, when Cas’ warm body presses him into the door, the flat of his tongue licking a blazing trail up his spine.

There’s a cursory knock at the door. 

“Dude! You two decent?!”

Looking up from his writing, Dean laughs, glancing over at a snoring, fucked out Cas, tangled up in the sheets. His last spike was a touch intense. So was Dean's.

“Charlie! Not by any stretch of the imagination! Hold up.”

He ties the blanket around his chest. His skin is still too sensitive to be wearing clothes and to be honest, if it wasn’t for the persistent, lingering itch, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Naked all day long with Cas. When he opens the door, he’s taken aback by the amount of shifters there. Charlie’s surrounded by Adam, Kevin, Jack and Meg, with Claire and Kaia looking up at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he swings it open.

“I guess you’re going to have to sit around on the floor. Don’t go near the bed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Adam grins.

Claire climbs into his arms, like he’s a damn tree.

“Heya, sweetheart,” he smiles. 

It’s the first time he’s seen her since his rut hit. There are healing cuts and bruises visible on her face and limbs, but her eyes shine bright enough. He thinks he sees a hint of a shadow looming in them, which he hopes is just his imagination, but knows not to be. Glancing at all his visitors, he catches something similar. The sadness hiding in Adam’s eyes. How Kevin ducks his head. The slight overcompensation in Charlie’s mood. Jack… Jack is entirely something else. He can already see more similarities with Cas. They’ll need time. All of them.

“Hello, Poppa,” Claire purrs.

Dean learns that in this moment, it is within the realms of this reality, of this life, for him to melt to utter goo. He stares at her, star-struck. When she rumbles at him sweetly, he presses his cheek to hers. It’s a quiet moment, until he hears Cas chuckle from within the sheets.

“Daddy, you’re awake?”

A groaned response from the bed suggests as much, when Cas sits up, eyes intensely fond as he looks at Dean and Claire, then to the others. With each found pack member, his expression softens. He has the presence of mind to tug another blanket over his lap, but there’s still a generous eyeful of his marked chest where Dean got a little too carried away.

“As you can see, he is, but he’s a bit tired.”

“Too much sex?” Kaia asks innocently.

Adam and Kevin guffaw, while Charlie scrunches up her face and Jack seems entirely nonplussed. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t you eww me, Bradbury. I see that mark in your neck.”

She flusters sweetly, her eyes lighting up. “Beautiful, right? And fucking finally. Why isn’t he marked up yet?”

“Like it’s any of your business,” Cas says grumpily, running a hand through his hair.

“Daddy! Look what we learned!” 

Claire yips and Dean helps her along when she pushes off of his chest and shifts mid-jump into the most adorable, strawberry blonde pup. Kaia roars and jumps forward, landing on dark brown, chonky paws. He takes the opportunity to hug Charlie close, the exchanging of a marking scent now as easy as a brook babbling down the forest. She has Dorothy's scent all over her, opening his arm when Kevin nudges into his other arm for a hug. Jack lets out a soft whine, so Charlie and Kevin make room, sneaking closer to Cas. Dean marks Jack on both sides of his neck before he pulls him and Adam into a tight hug. It takes another few heartbeats before everyone's sufficiently settled down.

Here. Present.

He sighs when his chest warms intensely, feeling Cas’ affection at the sight of them.

Cas huffs softly at the snarling cubs. “I take it Amara’s been teaching everyone?”

“And uncle Gabe,” Jack says. “Auntie Amara’s more structured in her approach than he is.”

“That’s a very kind way of saying my brother’s an utter loose cannon,” Cas smiles. “But he often knows things others don’t, so it pays to listen when he’s teaching.”

“Cas, look, she has reverse stars on her shoulders… Like yours,” Dean says, pointing at Claire.

They watch the cubs pounce and nip at each other, growling playfully. On Claire’s back are specks and patterns that amount to a tiny constellation of her own. Dean sighs, aware that his and Cas’ scent are oozing all over the room. 

Kevin groans, readjusting his hold on the books he’s got in his arms. “Ugh, everyone’s disgustingly adorable, but I brought you these anyway. From Cas’ stash.”

“I know,” Meg huffs, “I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling it.”

He grins at both of them, but his eyes are drawn back to Cas, who is using Dean’s belt to play tug of war with the girls. 

“Who put you on cub duty anyway, Masters?”

She shrugs, stepping into his offered hug momentarily, and he’s glad to see there’s a smoothness to her body language he hasn’t seen before. “I have no idea, but turns out I’m not half bad at it.”

Kaia runs over and pinches her in the leg. With an overdone eye roll, Meg grabs the little wolf and holds her in both arms. 

“When’s Patience coming back?” Cas asks.

Meg tries and fails to pull her face out of reach of Kaia’s tongue. “As soon as John and Mary make it to the Campbells. It shouldn’t be too long anymore.”

“So,” Charlie says, letting the word lilt up. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That The Bunker is now ours? For our pack?"

Dean’s grin is instant, like the spark before the flame, and it brightens up the faces around him.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Castiel returns to The Fort after leaving Dean asleep since his last spike, expecting him to be exactly there. In bed. Instead, Dean is at the desk, wrapped in blankets, writing furiously. He sighs as he closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“This needs to go to Sam and Gadreel. Well, you first of all.”

“Dean, you’re in charge.”

“Yes, but while I’m in here, losing my head or giving head or receiving… I may want to give you a blowjob, Cas…”

Castiel can’t resist the grin and gestures towards the bed. “Okay. Come here.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him, a touch of fever to his sweaty brow. “First this.”

“What is it?”

“The writ that gives Nomads their independence with a rough outline of their rights and privileges. Along with a few other ideas to flush out traffickers, like Sergei, and a way to, uhh, tear this building down into something else.”

He doesn’t know who this Sergei is, but the surge of appreciation he feels at Dean’s words is hardly the point. 

“What… Dean, that’s not even light work. You should be resting.”

“I’ll fucking sleep when I’m dead, Cas.”

Suddenly he’s yanked out of his chair, the blanket falling away. The world blurs around him, his head swimming even when he’s not completely out of it, when Cas bodily throws him to the bed.

“That will be at least another sixty years, if I’m around for it to the end, and no sleep will have a distinctly deteriorating effect on your health. I will not have it, Dean Winchester, if I have to tie you to this bed, feed and fuck you through your rut, until you sleep for a week, I’ll do it.”

His mind is all over the place, while he playfully struggles against Cas. The drugs have worn off and he’s at a disadvantage now, because his body took more punishment than it ever has before. He isn’t even close to full power, so it’s less effective than it ought to be. But he loves the feel of Cas’ strength pinning him down with relative ease. The way his sinful mouth curls into a crooked smirk sends jolts of want through him. When Cas’ blazing eyes rake over him, Cas’ heated remark throws up images which are all Very Good Ideas.

But for one thing.

“Cas,” he groans. “Promise me to get that out. Today. Now.”

Cas snarls, his want and frustration clinging to the back of Dean’s throat, while his scent wafts around him. Desire floods his system and he feels himself getting hard. 

“Man, you must be a joy to be around,” Dean grins, “The way you’re smelling.”

“I have half a mind to skin Gadreel, Benny, Charlie and Lee alive.”

“Do the thing. Well, don’t do that thing. Skinning pack members, bad Alpha,” he whines. “I’m… I can’t focus.”

Snickering, Cas surges forward, breath hot at his ear, his voice a delicious dark rumble. “I can smell your next spike coming. But you’ll have to wait if you want that message delivered.”

Dean twinkles at Cas and pouts, when Cas reluctantly removes himself out of his reach, but remains standing at the end of the bed, eyes roaming over his form. Spurred on by the urge to keep Cas with him, he slides his hands down his own flanks to the v of his hips, pushing off the mattress on his heels. His dick bobs up, smearing precome against his stomach and he smiles when Cas’ nostrils flare. 

“You did tell me to get my priorities straight. What are yours now?”

“Godfuckingalmighty…”

A delightful string of Elysian curses is torn from Cas, but he steps back, his expression going for stern reproach but easily landing on the restrained side of _‘into this’._ Dean winks at him and slowly slides his hands over his stomach and up to his nipples, twisting them. It’s bluster teasing, because he’s losing his head, but he’s enjoying the sight of Cas, trying to hold himself together, torn between fucking his mate and duty.

With an impressive effort, Cas turns away and the whimper that makes it past Dean’s lips is all too real in its need, the ill-advised teasing playfulness slip-sliding into genuine need. “Alpha…”

The word tastes natural on his tongue, but at the same time still takes some getting used to. It never fails to get a reaction from Cas, one he relishes, when he watches a shiver wrack through Cas’ strong frame.

“I am not leaving,” Cas says, soothing reassurance immediately in his scent while he glances over his shoulder. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Cas takes the papers from the desk, reading through them. His face goes on an interesting journey of emotions, which is as good as a balm soothing him from the inside out. Like drinking warm honeyed wine. He takes in every subtle change, storing it, because he wrote all of it with Cas in mind. Cas, his experiences and every member of their pack. When he gets to the end, he throws Dean a peculiar look and walks to the door, opening it. Dean’s temperature spikes, his mind reduced to riding out the wave of desire that courses through him, and he misses the exchange. For a desperate moment, he fears Cas did leave, but then...

The mattress dips and he reaches out blindly, finding the hard planes of Cas’ shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss, before he pushes him on his back, because he wants the weight of Cas' dick on his tongue. He surrenders to the flavour of him and the way Cas yields to him, even though he doesn't have to. He's still stronger than Dean, but he's been easing up, the given trust like syrup in the back of his throat. Dean relishes the sounds he elicits from Cas, the feel of his fingers in his hair, while he works his throat so he can take him deeper, his lips teasing at his knot.

Cas' hips stutter, a bleary curse pulled from him along with Dean's name a few times in rapid succession. "Pup, don't..."

He rumbles mutinously at Cas, because he _wants_ to, and pops off his dick to lick a hot, wet trail around the base, feeling his knot quiver under his lips. It's a heady feeling to hear Cas falling apart, to smell his arousal tangible in the air. With a soft moan, he swallows him back down, deep and fast, teasing his hand around Cas' growing knot.

"We'll be stuck," Cas snarls. "And I want to taste you."

The casual-angry way he says it has Dean stuttering in his movement. Casting a sweet look up at Cas, he knows he's challenging him. It's something in the way he tilts his head and bats his lashes that seems to provoke Cas in the best possible ways. He laughs, when Cas bodily hauls him up and he's manhandled to his stomach, the warmth of Cas all over him. He's never seen the trench or any other piece of clothing fly off so fast and it pulls sweet sounds from him, when Cas' bare skin touches his and he nose-nudges, tongue-kisses his way down Dean's spine.

Dean’s incessant in his needs and Castiel is high enough on the words he read in Dean’s neat handwriting, he’s lost to the world. To them. That, and the blowjob almost did his head in, but he really doesn't want to be stuck in Dean's mouth. He's right where he wants to be.

“I’m not built for this! Cas! You gotta… Ahhnnnn.. oh, shit, yes, more… spread me open, Cas, I need…”

Dean’s argument is probably the only concession Castiel is willing to make when it comes to roles. Physically there are undeniable perks to each, which when thrown head over ass – quite literally – do leave you with a challenge here and there. As much as he wants to, he can’t just sink into Dean and despite what was done to his body, his Alpha has yet to learn how to give leeway to his Omega. 

Perhaps at the hands of Dean…

None of this can’t be solved with the necessary tools and a whole lot of determination. And trust, he muses, while he hums reassuringly at Dean. _Into_ Dean, which draws a whimper out of his mate. Because even in the depths of his own rut, Castiel hears Dean’s pleas, his needs a constant luring reminder to keep a hold on his Alpha so as not to hurt him again. 

It is so deeply ingrained, his wolf, his Alpha, has to abide by it. His Omega helps in that respect, providing a soothing undercurrent for both himself and Dean. Pulling his slick fingers out, he plunges his tongue into Dean’s sensitive hole in an obscenely pleasant parody of fucking. It has him borderline delirious to feel Dean shake under his hands, reduced to gripping the sheets or fisting his hands in Castiel’s hair, begging for things beyond his reach, as long as Castiel just doesn’t stop.

So he doesn’t.

When Dean’s voice gives out, he switches his tongue out for his fingers and sucks Dean’s throbbing dick into his mouth just in time. Thankfully, perhaps, his knot doesn't pop. Castiel swallows down every drop of him, when he comes down his throat, his slick fingers buried in Dean’s ass.

There’s a desperate need to be filled, while Dean’s still reeling from his orgasm, and Cas’ fingers aren’t enough. He scrambles onto his elbows and twists his neck, finding Cas’ impressive mass over him, eyes swirling like ink in water. “Please tell me you’re still hard.”

An incredibly dark chuckle is his reward right before Cas yanks him where he wants him, kneeing his legs apart further, and flawlessly sinks into him.

“Oh, _Morrigan_ , yesssss…”

Cas’ voice hits next to his ear, just when he pulls out and slams back into him. “After watching you come undone like that, what do you think? Mmmh, Dean, you feel so good, you take me so well…”

Which is saying something since he’s not built for this, but Cas is right.

Dean flexes his muscles, losing himself in the moment, screaming himself hoarse when Cas fills him up.


	33. To Take You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He realizes he is in fact finally home. At The Bunker.
> 
> Cas puts him on his back.
> 
> The touch of his hands as they travel his skin is so warm, he cries out.
> 
> “Stay on your back.”

“Claire!”

Dean sits bolt upright in his bed, ripping the sheet with his claws. Castiel is by his side in a heartbeat, insistent in the way he handles Dean, and a sweet sound of approval escapes him when Dean goes pliant under his touch immediately, seeking him out. His scent even reaches for him, like rapidly rushing waters.

“Claire’s safe, Dean, she’s safe. You saved her.”

“Cas,” he hisses. “I was there. I couldn’t reach her. Sam… Eileen, I could hear them. Alastair…”

His own memories flash in front of his eyes, broken shards of dark and light, cast in the eerie red glow of Lucifer’s eyes. Dean clutches onto him.

“Images,” he mumbles, “But I can still hear the snapping of his bones. They’re meshing… Like bits and pieces that don’t belong. Alastair and Lucifer, until all that looms over me, stuck in that cage, while I can’t get to Claire, is this giant hulking form that’ll drag me back down to hell.”

Castiel shivers, the ease with which the visuals crowd him disturbing.

“I remember,” he whispers, kissing whatever part of Dean’s face he can reach, licking away his tears. “I remember too, Dean.”

Too much truth leaks through his scent, but there is no point hiding. It is a sliver of a shared experience, though Dean, of course, doesn't talk about what Alastair did to him, Castiel knows. He wants to say it will pass, but that in turn reeks of a lie. He hopes they will pass for Dean, but his own memories suggest differently. And with Lucifer still out there, they aren’t the only ones suffering. 

“Mmh, Cas, I’m sorry.”

With a soft scoff, he shakes his head. At a loss for words, he coaxes Dean into a kiss and resettles him, so he’s on his back, Castiel’s weight on top of him. He laps into his mouth, bites down on the healing mark in his neck, releasing his scent freely, until it’s all around them, filling the room to the brim, chasing the nightmares out.

He needs it as much as Dean does.

Today is a strange day. 

He’s pretty sure he’s high on one of Rowena’s remedies. He’s also pretty sure his rut should be easing up. The drugs offset the pain beautifully, but they capture the world like light filtering through a waterfall’s billowing spray. He sees shells like the ones in Claire’s hair. He smells Cas’ books, which seems implausible, because there are only a few in here. He hears the flapping of bird wings. Hugin or Munin. He feels his own sheets, but that can’t be, because he’s in The Fort and his own bed doesn’t smell like Cas, and yet somehow it all meshes. 

Cas’ wild bonfire is everywhere, burning, snapping, crackling, wrapping him in the scent of peaty wood and the delicious undercurrent of warm, honeyed milk. It’s all bleeding together, until he feels he’s drowning in their mingled scents and impressions, each of them leaving a print on his skin and his heart.

He realizes he is in fact finally home. At The Bunker.

Cas puts him on his back.

The touch of his hands as they travel his skin is so warm, he cries out.

“Stay on your back.”

His eyes fly open, nostrils flaring when he catches the scent of Cas’ slick and mewls wantonly. Slick fingers are pushed into his mouth and he sucks down on them, groaning desperately when Cas’ warm mouth closes around his dick. He arches up into the touch, chasing one sensation as he devours the other, his body asking for more, everything, including… his mind catches up slowly. He grabs Cas’ wrist, wrenching his fingers out of his mouth, already missing his flavor.

He wants too much at once. Bury his face in Cas. Or his dick. Knot him.

Fuck. That’s what he’s catching a whiff of.

“Cas, no, not like this.”

“Yes, like this, Dean. You need… You need it.”

“I don’t want you doing this over some stupid rut. I’ll ride it out.”

“Or you might die after all, because we have no damn clue what Lucifer and Alastair did to you, and that is not an option.”

“It isn’t?”

Cas snarls, pinning him down, looming large and beautiful over him, filling his vision. Even through his state of mind, Dean sees how tired he is, the state of his scruff and hair a dead give-away. Dean reaches out to him, caressing his cheeks. They’re wet and his heart lurches, seeing perhaps for the first time the depths of Cas’ loss and pain, so much older than what’s going on right now, but inexorably connected to it.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Cas, for what they took from you,” he slurs.

A deep sense of grief wells up between them, feeling as if it might push them apart, but then a bittersweet acceptance follows closely on its heels, tying them closer together.

“They’ve taken enough. No more. You used your voice on me, you left us and didn’t return, and then you used your voice on yourself, pushing your body so far it all but fell apart. I am not done with you. You will live through this, Dean Winchester, because you are mine.”

He pants, delirious desire washing over him and his vision blurs. A deep, wanton cry is torn from him, when Cas presses his dick between his ass cheeks and slides up and down, coating him. A guttural moan is wrenched from Cas in the process and his chest expands, because he's feeling too much, or maybe that's Cas, because...

“As I am yours, Dean. I want…”

He sounds ragged, breathing too hard, and Dean fights to get a grip, because Cas is trembling, falling to pieces on top of him, all for his sake.

“I want this. I want to feel you. I don’t...”

The desperate need slithers through Dean’s delirium, quick and intense, full of promise and urgency, if only Dean can meet Cas halfway. Because he hasn’t done this before, Dean realizes. Cas rolls his hips, testing the waters, and they stutter. Dean opens his eyes, finding Cas flushed from his chest to his ears. His eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and pleasure, the visual to go with the intense scent that's rolling off Cas in waves. His mate needs him. Stilling his own hips, Dean pushes up on his elbow, reaching for Cas, and pulls him down for a kiss. Just a kiss.

An endless, reaching for the stars, you are safe with me, now and forever kiss.

They lose themselves in each other. He drinks up Cas’ flavor, fingers buried in his sweaty hair. Slow, languid kisses, so he can soothe and calm Cas down, until the only reason left he’s trembling is desire. The fires roar up, both in his eyes and around Dean, because his heat is everywhere. Cas whines into his mouth softly, his Omega’s essence greedily expanding until his room, their room feels like it might burst at the seams. 

Dean’s drowning in his eyes and he smiles, when he sees Cas’ lips move in a request so alluring all he can do is give him everything he wants.

“I want to remember this,” he whines.

“You are something,” Cas smiles fondly, softer than Dean’s ever seen him before. He is growing quite fond of Cas letting his Omega through.

“Then focus, Dean, focus on me… Focus on me and mate me.”

His surroundings shatter as if they’re duplicating, into softer and darker versions of themselves, sending his head spinning. Part of him is pure Alpha instinct when he grabs onto Cas’ hips, lining himself up. Another part of him is at its core purely Dean. The packless who wandered the lands alone, trying to save one person at a time, forever seeing the faces of those he couldn’t.

He breathes out in short bursts, while he sinks into Cas, who cleaves to him smoothly and his mind threatens to give way.

“Eyes on me, Alpha,” Cas says.

Dean’s vision flashes red when he opens them, coating the world in it, and by world, he means Cas, who’s shaking violently. His grip on Dean’s chest has a sting to it, claws out, while he lifts up on Dean’s cock and sinks back down. Tentative at first, but with every stroke, he finds his bearings and his eyes flicker a mesmerizing golden pink, staying that way, when Dean puts more strength behind his thrusts.

Those beautiful lips turn to an ‘o’ while his eyes flutter shut. “Oh, oh, this… Dean, I… Mmmh, this is…”

Cas shakes his head, eyes flying open hazily enthralled, as if seeing the world in another light, and smiles, his fangs showing.

“Do that again…”

Dean grins wickedly, his world still shattered like a kaleidoscope, but it’s all Cas and his focus is zeroing in on his mate beautifully, even if he still feels suspended. He grips Cas tighter by the hips and digs his heels into the mattress, fucking into him slow, snapping his hips at the last moment. It knocks a gorgeous, winded moan out of him and he falls forward, claiming Dean’s mouth in a searing kiss that seems to set the air on fire. His hands come up to cup Cas’ face tenderly, holding him there, his muscles burning while he takes everything Cas is offering.

“Alpha,” Cas whines into him. “Mate me.”

It must be their mating bond that draws him from his dreamlike, almost fugue-like state, and he’s expressing gratitude mutely to The Morrigan, because he doesn’t want Cas thinking his thoughts are anywhere else. He licks a trail up Cas’ neck, relishing the trembling anticipation that courses through Cas and swirls around them, blending their scents. The huffy breaths Cas lets out on low, rumbling purrs are delightfully addictive.

_“Alpha!”_

Cas is nudging their cheeks together, impatience leaking through, quickly petering out to delirious surrender, when Dean sinks his fangs into his neck. His knot expands and catches from one heady breath to the next, tying Cas to him, whose voice echoes inside his skull when he comes too. The world shatters into prismatic shards, a blinding white that cracks and spins into the colors of them. He feels everything come together, connected like a bright gold spiderweb, catching the fiery rays of the sun and heavy rain drops.

The here and now. Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever understood it as well as he does in this moment, the moment Dean's fangs tie them together in every possible way a pair of shifters can be. His body's never felt more his own, falling apart and reassembling itself with Dean.

Snuffling, he pushes his nose against Dean’s healing mating bite, baring his own so Dean can lick at the fresh bite. He wants the soothing feeling that comes with it, Dean’s Alpha all protective and rumbling contentedly. Perhaps there’s something to be said about embracing his Omega… With a deep sigh, he starts purring under the warm feeling of Dean’s tongue on his skin, moving his lips gingerly against Dean’s skin, wanting to draw out little reactions.

“You know that effect when you throw a rock in the water and it sends out ripples across the water?”

He can sense Dean trying to wrap his head around the sudden, strange remark and waits it out, curious to what conclusion he’s going to come to. A low grumble suggests it’s the wrong one. 

“Are you comparing me to a dumb rock, Cas?”

Castiel chuckles fondly. “I would never.”

Dean tilts his head and he catches sight of a narrowed, green eye, glowering slightly.

“Though you did do a very dumb by taking off on your own,” Castiel says, putting his strength to work as he tugs at Dean, jolting a semi-surprised, semi-happy sound out of them both, because they’re still blissfully connected in the most intimate way. With every gesture, he lets the soft moans of pleasure punctuate his words, a second, gentler orgasm drawn out of Dean. One that has them breathing into each other's mouth, silent for a little while longer.

“And I would very much appreciate it if you never do that again," he sighs eventually.

"The orgasm?" Dean quips.

_Bluster._

He snorts and nips at Dean's lip. "No. That you can do again. Many times. Running from me. And..."

Dean noses at him gently, when he hesitates.

"And when I asked you not to use your voice on others, that's not quite what I meant. You could have taken out Lucifer."

Dean's eyes widen, a blend of panic and guilt rising to the surface in a heartbeat.

"It's alright."

"It isn't," Dean mutters. "I should have, but... I dunno. I think I was so far out of it, all I could think was to fix what I screwed up. Didn't cross my mind..."

"Your drug-addled mind."

"Yeah, it didn't occur to me. And now Lucifer's out there."

Castiel puts two fingers to his lips. He smells and senses the slip-slide this is. He's enjoying being stuck to Dean like this, even while he's being a pup. Even with these intense emotions on display and he has no intention of letting that slip through his fingers again. Dean mewls softly, a gentle apologetic purr emanating from him, his gaze far-away yet very much on him. Castiel kisses him in earnest to take some of the sting out of his scent, because they’re both still deeply upset whenever they remember how close they came to losing each other. Re-feel.

“No, Dean,” he whispers. “I am not comparing you to a dumb rock. Nor blaming you for anything. You are the ripple effect… ever since I met you, that’s what you’ve been doing. Directly or indirectly causing ripples in the water.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, pup.”

“Uh-huh, only if you stop calling me that, old man.”

Castiel snorts inelegantly, rolling his eyes. “You do know I can feel that little jolt of pleasure you experience every time I call you that, _pup?”_

Dean scowls lightly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, but his eyes sparkle all the same.

“No apologies,” Castiel repeats.

“I insist.”

They’re getting comfortable like this, which isn’t something he expected. Time has been elusive at best, so he has no idea how long they lie like that. Long enough for Dean's knot to go back down, both of them moving instinctively to stay close. Dean starts arranging the blankets into a nest, which makes breathing harder for a moment, because his heart swells intensely. He pulls Dean to him and they settle into a mess of limbs and kisses. With Castiel’s belongings now in Dean’s room, it’s smelling like home more every day. The whole Bunker does, while they both learn to discern between their pack members' scents.

“Why?”

“Because I know some of the ripples I caused made things worse. If I hadn’t antagonized April… If I’d kept my trap shut at the Gathering, hell, maybe just not sat down at the damn table to begin with…”

“Ifs and maybes. Useless,” Castiel says, grinning when Dean looks offended. “Azazel made his plans. So did Elysium. They sniffed each other out. It’s the choices that follow after… bringing us to the here and now.”

Dean chews his lower lip, frowning at Cas in consternation. “Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“You of all people are lecturing me on staying in the here and now?”

Castiel quirks his eyebrow, having trouble not smirking. “I’ve picked up a thing or two from this spectacular Alpha I met.”

“Really? How so?”

“He insists I spend too much time in either the past or the future.”

“Sounds like a smart guy. Did he actually say that?”

“He didn’t. I picked it up through our bond. Among other things.”

Dean stops joking and turns solemn.

“Bond…?”

Castiel’s heart twists at the sudden uncertainty he picks up on, despite everything. “Yes, Dean. Bond. In case the mating bites didn’t make that clear.”

Dean holds his tongue.

“I lied when I said it wasn’t real.”

On a low snarl, Dean pulls him closer.

“I lied, because I was terrified and still stuck in that cage.”

“You’ve been locked in there forever, Cas. It’s time…”

“I know. I’m here, aren’t I? Because I truly didn’t count on your stubbornness.”

“Or my charm, no doubt.”

A lightness lifting his heart in his chest, like it has wings, Castiel throws his head back laughing and Dean’s heart quivers under his palm in response.

“That. Or my wolves’ insistence.”

“Hey, don’t ignore me.”

Dean's hands slide up his scarred chest, before he snakes them over his shoulders and his fingers curls into his hair. Castiel leans over, cupping Dean's face between his hands.

“Oh, your charm, pup, is out of this world. As is your need for praise.”

“You love it, Alpha.”

“I do. God help me, I do. I love you, Dean.”


	34. Epilogue

Dean’s outside for the first time in over two weeks, the sun tangible even through Cas’ linen shirt he nicked. With a deep sense of relief, he stretches both arms high, the soft fabric riding up, and bends them at the elbows to scratch at the back of his head. 

They’re finished dismantling The Fort.

Cas took the designs seriously when he found them, among earlier drafts of his writ. In due time, there will be shifters who won’t know it was ever different. For now, his pack knows what was and is.

Most of the dark stained wood is gone, reduced to its foundations, one half of the door frame remaining. Everything else is being chopped up for the bonfire tonight and stored for winter. As for the chains… They are no more. Every link broken, bent and reforged into semblances of shifters, rising from the ruins of The Fort. From the vantage point of the white table, they can be found, if you look for them, walking away from the torn down building towards the plains, the ocean and the forest. Twin cawing draws his gaze up momentarily, where Hugin and Munin are flying, wings spread wide as they ride the wind current.

His heart soars at the sight before him. The wind tugs at him, the scent of salt on the air. Most of their pack is within his line of sight. 

Stalking the forest, Meg is in her wolf form with a slew of the younger ones in tow. He picks out Kaia and Patience with ease, their size and noise a dead give-away. From this distance, he thinks Adam and Kevin are with her too, and they’re proving quick on the uptake in terms of hunting. Both of them have a knack for magic too, if Amara is to be believed.

Jack, Charlie and Dorothy are in wolf form, racing each other on the beach, Baby and Toto giving them a run for their money. They’re basically waiting for the first sign of sails on the horizon. Benny’s pack is on its way. Dean isn’t sure if they’re visiting or staying. The Bunker can’t hold a whole second pack, but it doesn’t feel like Benny wants to leave either.

Bounding forth out of the forest treeline, back from her hunt, Amara joins in the race, scaring the crap out of everyone, because she is by far the fastest and largest of them. She bent the knee to him and Cas, even though they didn’t ask her to.

His eyes track back to The Bunker, where he finds Lee and Gadreel, cuddled up in one of the tree hammocks. An idea offered by Meg, of all people, promptly backed up by Charlie and Gabriel. And Sam. And Eileen. Hammocks, high up in the trees. Strange, but not unfamiliar, and, in truth, awesome.

A smile breaks through at the sight of those last three, stepping out of The Bunker. How their dynamic works, he hasn’t got a clue, but it does. Gabriel’s all too cheeky about ‘his two Omegas’, but that’s mostly bluster, hiding a deep well of need for affection. Sam and Eileen happily keep him grounded. Or in check. He’s not sure which. It’s funny to see them interact in pairs. Gabriel’s all protective around Eileen, but turns into a puddle of mush around Sam. And ever since their triad bonded, Dean’s caught the scent of slowly easing pain for all three of them. Though Cas had to point out the latter, when it came to Gabriel. He is still getting used to him in all his trickster glory. But they’re amazingly beautiful to behold.

He shares his responsibilities with all of them. Listens to them to figure out how to reshape their world, bit by bit, shifter by shifter, in a way that makes sense on every level. It’s slow work, but it’s happening with the support of Tribals and Nomads alike, those fixed lines blurring with every subtle change.

Promptly, his heart warms, returning back to this blessed earth, when his attention is drawn to Cas, rising to his considerable height. Claire’s sitting on his neck, giving directions, which he generously follows. It takes Dean a heartbeat to realize what order she’s giving, her small finger pointing with the impatient urgency only a cub can portray. Cas angles towards him. When Dean’s eyes find hers, she gestures wildly, moving her legs as if spurring on a horse.

She leads them straight to each other. Dean laughs at seeing Cas’ fondly grumpy expression, one he’s grown attached to. Her hands twist in Dean’s hair the moment he embraces Cas, and his warmth, both scent and body, wrap around Dean. He lets out a loving chuff, when Cas nuzzles into his neck and returns the gesture, unable to resist licking over the healing mating bite. Cas squints at him adorably, his hair a mess, while he pulls at Dean’s waist without any real urgency, simply because he wants to feel him. 

Between him and Cas, Sam, Gabriel and Eileen, Lee and Dree, and Charlie and Dorothy, it’s a miracle their scents mesh as generously and gorgeously as they do. Which must mean they’re meant to be how they are. Sometimes he thinks about it, a full body blush kicking in, and then dismisses thinking too much about it. Because it’s them. It’s their life. Their pack.

A sweet-scented request makes its way to him. One of shifting, hunting, licking each other clean and remaining in the here and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the icing sugar... to tie up all loose ends. (I think. There were quite a few.) 
> 
> If you've stayed with these wolves of mine till the very end, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and will leave a grateful scentmark, if I may ^^ they were a long time in the making and I had to proverbially sit on them for quite a while. (Third time posting is the friggin' charm.) By far, the biggest fic I've got so far with the most amount of world-building, so quite curious how it was received.
> 
> Do drop me a comment and/or some kudos! Both are equally appreciated and I love you for being here!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed yourself. Thank you for your presence!  
> So much love,  
> Mal

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Graphics for Nomad by Fate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240820) by [lotrspnfangirl_graphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl_graphics/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl_graphics)




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